Absolution, Beware
by E. Edwin
Summary: Cunning. Capable. Cynical. Severus Snape is content to bide his time as Hogwarts' Headmaster until his skills are needed. Then a bushy-haired girl challenges everything he thought he knew. Ignores most of DH.
1. Trolls

Damn. Idiotic little children. I read the note again.

_Headmaster,_

_I've scared up enough students for your Forbidden Forest trip. Mr. Malfoy tipped me off about some tom-foolery in a charms class this morning. You should speak to Flickwick; he failed to give them detention at the time._

_-Alecto_

I had already heard about the incident. Some first-years became over-zealous during the practice session for the Mobiliarbus charm, moving not only the practice pillows about the room but also tables, chairs, tottering stacks of paper, and Professor Flitwick himself.

Bloody idiots. They're practically _trolls _the lot of them. Tomfoolery could get them killed, especially when punishments are handed out by Death Eaters. Could they be more stupid? They certainly make my job more difficult. Protecting students is one thing. Protecting foolish, idiot children who do everything in their power to attract attention from the wrong sort of person is another.

Now I would be forced to take a group of first years into the Forbidden Forest to collect potion ingredients for some of my more pungent brews. It's less dangerous than a Carrow detention, which is why I had planned it in the first place, but there are still plenty of opportunities for injury. I closed my eyes and crumpled the note in my hand. I could see them already- tripping and falling into a nest of blackwort spiders, being trampled by centaurs, enticed by the fragrance of the devil's snare flower, eaten by god knows what… I would spend my evening in the hospital wing. I knew it. I have been doomed to wipe the noses of these bloody children for all bloody eternity.

Idiots.

A class had just let out down the hall, and a group of slovenly Hufflepuffs walked past me down the stairs. I scowled at their backs. My fingers twitched toward my wand. It would be so satisfying to hex one of them- the boy perhaps. He was wearing a scruffy robe that looked like it hadn't been washed yet this year. I pictured the boy flying through the air with the force of my hex, landing with a thud at the bottom of the stairs, covered in, ah, but I couldn't decide. Bat-bogey? So childish. Perhaps something stronger? A stinging hex? I glowered at his retreating back, itching to just _think_ a spell at him- it would be so easy. But it would mean an additional trip to the hospital wing. I fumed. The hospital wing- sunny windows, the scent of calming potions, soft, warm sheets covering everything, benign springy carpet under the beds- intolerable. Hateful. It reminded me of that Umbrage woman's cardigans; it always makes my skin itch. I have spent far, far too much time there this year. Already.

I heard a clatter behind me, and whirled around. A little girl had dropped a book, had bent down to recover it, and was now cowering in fear under my mocking stare. Perfect.

I advanced ever so slowly, for maximal effect. I glared down my nose at her. The sound of my footsteps on the stone made an ominous tapping sound, which echoed off the castle walls. I stopped. Silence. The girl was positively trembling now. She stared up at me in fear with huge eyes. I was curious. Inside my sleeve, I touched a finger to my wand. _Legilimens_. I peered through her eyes into her mind.

_The Ravenclaw dormitory, night. Flickering firelight cast frightening shadows over an older boy's face; he was telling a story with exaggerated hand movements. His mouth moved dramatically, but the words were not remembered. Her mind's eye constructed an image of his story; potions class, Snape whispering threats in the boy's ear. His face is partially obscured by a curtain of greasy black hair, his hooked nose alone signaling the movement of his face. Snape suddenly turns to the class, with billowing robes and glittering eyes he spits irritation at the lot of them. He swoops down on another student, dismissing her potion, coldly criticizing, bringing her to tears, and now coldly terrorizing the class with a hand on his wand…_

At least she was right about one thing: I always had my wand at the ready. I removed my finger from it. Ahhh. The itching sensation from thinking about the hospital wing had vanished. I looked down at the terrified girl and suddenly felt an insane urge to grin. She had no reason to be afraid of me. But, of course, she didn't know that. No one did. This entire school was scared stiff, and for what? For nothing.

It was so easy to terrify. So bloody simple.

And so delightfully amusing.

I satisfied my urge to grin, turning it into a sinister smile. I dropped my voice to a whisper. "Detention." I savored every consonant. "After dinner, in the entrance hall." Perhaps assigning the children partners would prevent the worst of the accidents during our time in the Forbidden Forest. The more the merrier.

I put on my most terrifying face and leaned forward slightly, towering over her. "And if I ever catch you being so clumsy again," I smiled more widely, drawing out the moment. The girl looked like she might pass out. "I will make the punishment much, much worse."

I spun around and swooped down the stairs toward the dungeons. It wasn't long till dinner now, and I had to collect some ingredient gathering supplies from my store room. As I strode through the halls I glowered at Dumbledore's students. They fear me. So much the better. If the entire school hates me it will be that much simpler to convince the Dark Lord of my loyalty. Serving two masters- such a delicate game that I played for so long. Now I only work for myself and deceive everyone else. It is much easier than being selective in my deceit.

Much easier.

"Headmaster!"

Only three people ever called me that, and only one with a female voice. She was not a legilimens, but you could never be too careful about people practicing new skills unexpectedly. I put a finger on my wand and cleared my mind before turning around.

"Ye-es?" I drew it out into two syllables between my teeth.

"Granger," gasped Alecto, still approaching at a jog, her robes billowing. Her eyes glimmered with excitement. That was rarely a good sign.

Wait, _Granger_? Bratty, bushy-haired Granger? Granger who was off gallivanting with _Potter_? I eyed Alecto. _Legilimens_.

_Remus running up the walk from Hogsmead, a prone figure floating along behind him on a conjured stretcher. Madame Pomfrey bustling over, splashing through a puddle of mud to the girl's side, barking orders, feeling for a pulse…_

Granger was back. An interesting development.

Oh sweet Merlin. A mudblood with information. The Carrows would torture her for sure.

"Granger?" I prompted, calmly raising an eyebrow.

"She's here," Alecto gasped. "In the hospital wing."

The hospital wing. Bloody…

* * *

**A/N:** I don't own anything. Reviews make my day. And you should all thank my beta, Savva, who is a SAINT for everything she's done for this story.

Also, thanks so much to Lasse17 on deviantArt for allowing me to use this fantastic picture of Severus!


	2. An Unnecessary Risk

Madame Pomfrey bustled out from behind a curtain, making a beeline for a cupboard of potions. Amycus had already arrived; he strode over to her and asked rudely, "is the girl ready to talk?" I winced internally. That was clearly not the correct phrasing. Death Eaters- they tend to have an appalling lack of subtly. Too late; Poppy spun on her heel, scowling darkly.

"Ready to talk!" She bellowed, inches from Carrow's face. "Ready to _talk_!" She had picked up on his idiotic phrasing and was throwing it in his face. A dumpy little witch putting a towering Death Eater in his place; must be embarrassing. I wanted to applaud.

"My patient is _dying_."

Dying?

Poppy seemed shocked by her own words, blinking and turning back toward the cupboard with a dazed wobble. Quite serious then; more serious that I had imagined.

Dying.

That gave me pause. Even if Granger had just arrived, it would be the first student death on my watch. I hadn't expected that possibility. I should have known, of course. She hadn't been hurt in a childish prank this time; she had the audacity to challenge the Dark Lord himself. Foolish. Dangerous. Typical Gryffindor behavior.

But I'd be damned if she would make me break my promise to Dumbledore.

Her death would have other consequences. She undoubtedly had information about where Potter was, and, more importantly, what he was doing. If I was to make use of my trusted position, it was vital that I discover the truth Potter's plan before the Dark Lord put a stop to it. This was the best, and perhaps only, chance I had.

I took a step toward Madame Pomfrey. How could I approach her in such a way that she would let me help? Genuine concern would only make her suspicious. Aggression would put her on her guard. Professionalism; the perfect third option. I cleared my throat and used an even, disinterested tone. "What is the nature of Miss Granger's illness?"

She stopped fussing with the vials. "Poison." Her shoulders slumped and she hung her head ever so slightly. Damn! She was looking down at the floor; I could not read her thoughts. Then she pursed her lips, as if having decided something. "You should have a look." She stalked off behind the curtain. I gave Carrow a quick glance and then followed her.

Granger lay on one of the cots, one arm dangling limp off the side of the bed, the other taut at her side, still grasping her wand with an iron fist. Her upper leg bore a small, black cut that seemed to drain color from the surrounding skin. There were specks a sickly mustard-yellow substance oozing from the abrasion, and the wound was surrounded by veins of black blood pulsing through the deathly white skin.

But in comparison to what I saw next, the cut seemed but a mere scratch. Granger's eyes were wide open, her face fixed in a stricken, disbelieving expression. She seemed almost conscious. It was as if she was screaming in silent terror even as I watched and would, at any moment, jump up and flee. This 'poison,' as Poppy put it, was affecting not just her body, but also her mind. There are few substances that have such a power, and I thought I knew all of them. I was clearly wrong. I did not recognize this.

"I can treat the symptoms, but a potential cure escapes me," Poppy said in a quiet voice, cleaning the wound. It escapes me too; even with my years of experience with the dark arts.

The state of Granger's mind might give me insight into her condition. Did I dare peer through her eyes and face her terrors myself? I had no idea how I would be affected. Although considering that this mental affliction had a physical basis, it seemed unlikely that I would be permanently injured. If I was cautious, this could prove the most direct way to save Granger's life. But it was, technically, an unnecessary risk. Damn her! I walked closer, touched a finger to my wand, and peered into her fearful honey-colored eyes. _Legilimens_.

_Pain. Excruciating pain. Terror- screaming, running. Aching. An image, solid and real; Snape and his piercing eyes, gazing down from a universe away. A sane image, tantalizingly out of reach. Terrified confusion, panic. A memory of the beginning, almost coming to the surface, looking down at my leg in horror… but fire- burning, everywhere, gasping in pain, sound, so much sound, every voice raised in protest- a climax-_

_Legilimens. Granger's terrified eyes. The voices, the terror: still there. But muted..._

Her pain must have pushed me back toward my own mind. I gritted my teeth. This is something that happened to amateur legilimens. I looked deeply into her mind, searching for the image of my eyes, looking for the memory of her injury that she had almost revealed, searching for a hint as to how to help her. Her mind resisted. All I could see were her eyes; all I could hear was a terrified flurry of mad whispers. I tried to listen to them and they became louder, but still indistinct. Bloody frustrating! A clear window into her thoughts evaded my grasp.

I remembered Dumbledore, his hand on my shoulder, looking at me over his half-moon spectacles and extracting a promise to protect the students. Dumbledore: quiet and sane in his perfect office. Me: halfway between my own mind and Granger's, the terrified voices from her head whispering in my ear. The things I do for that man.

I ground my teeth. I absolutely need that memory; it was the only way to cure Granger. I focused, readying my mind, and then tried to break through the muted barrier. It dropped and let me pass…

_Leg veins pulsating with ice, beating, fighting the burning, burning pain. An orange-red flash of light. A stray jinx hitting a pedestal ahead, the tiny vial upon it flying through the air and shattering on the floor, flecks of glass and potion hurtling through the air. Pain, voices, a blinding flash of red…_

I withdrew myself quickly, feeling my mind stumble back into my own body. Poppy stood silently, staring at me with a mixture of suspicion and amazement. Granger hadn't moved. It almost surprised me. I had not moved either; I was still slightly bent over the prone girl.

"Severus?"

I looked up. Minerva had arrived; she wore an expression almost identical to Poppy's.

She hasn't called me Severus in a long time.

I looked away.

I contemplated what I had seen. A vial shattering on the floor. Fire, voices. It seemed so familiar…

I remembered; it was Gwyar's Cordial, part of the Cambriae Collection, a renowned set of dangerous artifacts from the medieval period that had been stored for over fifty years by the ministry. I recall Lucius mentioning it in passing during a recent meeting. So the Dark Lord was toying with ancient weapons. Naturally. I should have prepared specially; it would be a wise idea to familiarize myself with the objects his ministry takeover had made available.

This meant, of course, that Granger's life was in no danger. The cordial was used for centuries as part of various initiation rituals; those strong enough to survive its effects were deemed worthy. It supposedly only lasted for a few hours.

I tisked at Poppy internally for failing to recognized the symptoms. While I have far more important things to attend to than reading up on every one of the Dark Lord's new playthings, Poppy has ample time between curing nosebleeds to prepare herself for the inevitable wounded. If she was a student I would deduct points for thoughtlessness. The witch had no business worrying me that Granger would die before revealing the information I so desperately needed. I will not again underestimate Granger's ability to pull through even the most dramatic situations by the tips of her very bushy hair.

I forced a sneer and said loftily, "Miss Granger is under the influence of Gwyar's Cordial. She is in no serious danger."

Minerva looked shocked and seemed to disagree. "No serious danger? It could leave her crippled! It could destroy her mind! Poppy," she demanded, tilting her head, "what can you do?"

Poppy fiddled with her vials again, thinking. "I've already done all I can for the wound to help it heal. The only thing left is to give her a potion for the pain, and perhaps a sleeping draught as well…"

A horrible idea. "Considering that the cordial was designed to test the physical and mental endurance of the initiate there are undoubtedly safeguards against such potions." She still did not seem to understand. I sneered, genuinely this time. "_Dangerous_ safeguards," I enunciated.

Amycus peered around the curtain, caught my eye and jerked his head back toward the entrance area of the Hospital Wing. He wanted to talk. I followed him without a backwards glance, leaving Poppy chattering worriedly behind me. I would leave Granger trapped in her own mind, screaming, for a time. It would do her good. Perhaps she'll be less of a damn nuisance when it's over.

Amycus came to a stop in the middle of the room, looked around dramatically, and leaned closer. "Should we contact the Dark Lord?" He spoke in an undertone, and his eyes glittered.

He thought Granger's information might be valuable enough to entice a reward out of our master; I didn't need magic to read the greed in his eyes. He was right. It _was_ valuable information. That was exactly why I needed to obtain it first.

I frowned and tried to look thoughtful. "Yes…" I said slowly, amused that Amycus heartbeat quickened in anticipation, "but not yet. I doubt the Dark Lord would waste his time interrogating a school girl personally. We will contact him when we have something more to report than the return of everyone's favorite little mudblood." My voice dripped with distain.

"Shall I do the honors?"

As I had predicted, he was already getting in line to torture the girl. He reminded me of Granger herself, waving her hand in the air, trying to be called on. Fortunately for her, I had a different plan.

"Granger's mind is vulnerable at the moment and it will be weak as she recovers. We should leave her alone- let her rest and recover; lull her into a false sense of security. Then it will be simple for me to entice her mind to reveal all the answers we want." Amycus looked heartbroken. Of course- no gore or glory for him. "You can make sure we got everything once I'm through," I added in a whispered undertone, clapping him on the back. He bought my plan with a lopsided grin.

"Now, I want to know what happened. Was the werewolf here?"

"Alecto saw him- I'm not sure where he is now. Ask McGonagall."

I turned back to have a talk with Minerva. Ah, but the first years and my Forbidden Forest trip. I had forgotten; they would be waiting for me now. I couldn't possibly go myself, and if I sent a different teacher they would probably muddle the collection of my ingredients. Or just torture the students instead. "Send someone to reschedule my group of detention students for tomorrow night," I said over my shoulder.

In the Hospital Wing for two nights in a row. I rammed my heels into the springy carpet with irritation.


	3. Awake

Mmmm. Warmth.

Cozy.

I snuggled with the soft blankets.

They were pulled up too high; tickling my nose. I wiggled it experimentally.

I stretched my toes. God, I _love_ doing that!

Ahhh, this was comfortable.

"Mmmmm," I hummed out loud.

There was a soft, pink light coming from somewhere. I opened my eyes.

Ceiling: a pleasant off-white color.

I sniffed. Hmmm. Interesting. Smells like… I sniffed… smells awfully _clean_.

I think I'm still a little groggy.

Speaking of which- sleeping potion. Smells like it.

I looked up at the ceiling again. Oh hey: hospital wing. Definitely the hospital wing.

Wonder how I got here.

I tried thinking about it. Meh- so much work. I stopped. And it's so nice and _cozy_.

I pulled the sheets up to my chin and rolled onto my side, snuggling in and closing my eyes.

"Miss Granger!"

McGonagall. A worried tone.

I crack open an eye. She's charging toward me. Ok, so maybe not charging. But compared to how fast I'm moving…

"How do you feel? Are you alright? Does it hurt anywhere? Your leg…?"

I feel hands all over me; checking my pulse, feeling my forehead, nervously stroking my arm, trying to help me up. Grrr! I feel sleepy! Pretty please go away? Please?

I'm pulled into a sitting position. I sway- they hold me. I guess it's time to wake up.

Uggggh.

I open my eyes.

There are two heads, one on each side of my field of vision like a mirror image, looking at me with identical concerned expressions.

Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey. Awww aren't they sweet?

"Hi!" I say politely. Maybe they'll go away and let me sleep?

_Dooormir_.

That's what Mum would say. She has the funniest French impressions. I giggle.

I see them look at each other for a moment.

"Drink this, dear. It will make you feel better." Madame Pomfrey holds a cup to my mouth.

Eww! Smells nasty. I drank it.

WOW. Caffeine. I blink. No- the wizard equivalent: Invigoration Draught. I could tell by the hot red color and the hint of pepper. Although it seemed a little thin, I would have let it simmer for longer…

"Granger!"

Here! Er, "Yes, Professor."

Professor McGonagall was peering at my face. "What happened? What do you remember?"

Good question. What did happen?

The last thing I remember… a hex gone awry flinging a pedestal toward me, a vial smashing against the stone, flying droplets of liquid, looking down at my leg…

Pain. Voices. Screaming.

Snape's eyes.

What were they doing there?

I started over. The vial- it must have been Gwyar's cordial. We had been looking for a horcrux amongst the artifacts, and I had researched all of them. It was the only one that fit my symptoms.

"The vial of Gwyar's cordial smashed, and a droplet burned into my leg."

McGonagall nodded. "And then?" she prompted.

And then, and then… how did I get here? Ah- Professor Lupin. Remus, as he wanted us to call him. Harry and Ron had to leave and I couldn't very well go to St. Mungo's. At least Hogwarts would afford some protection to a mudblood on the basis of being a student.

"Is Professor Lupin still here?" I asked Professor McGonagall.

"No, he never even came onto the grounds. Just delivered you and disapparated," answered Madame Pomfrey. So much the better. It was safer for him.

So I had been bitten, brought to Hogwarts by Lupin, and taken to the Hospital Wing by Madame Pomfrey. Where did Snape come into this? I closed my eyes and pictured his face. His eyes- deep and sad, worried, anxious, protective… but that couldn't be right. Snape's eyes were flat and cold. Why had I been looking into his eyes anyway? What had he been doing? I tried to remember, but I couldn't. I felt that it was… complicated. It would come to me.

Dumbledore, I saw an image of him. Hand on my shoulder, peering earnestly over his half-moon spectacles. He was speaking, but I couldn't hear him. He was trying very hard to impress something upon me, something important. What was he saying?

I don't remember Dumbledore ever being that close to me. I wonder where that image came from.

I would remember; I could feel it.

"Well!" I said, looking at them enthusiastically. "Looks like I'm all better now. May I go?"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "You need to be under our supervision and protection for the time being, Miss Granger. I think it would be wise if you resume your year as a student, at least for a few weeks, and stay in the Hospital Wing under Poppy's care for the next couple days. Does that tally with what you have in mind?"

I nodded. I didn't know where Harry and Ron were, so there was no catching up to them now. But as for medical supervision, I felt fine.

I looked at the time. It was nearly nine thirty in the evening. I hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"Might I go grab something from the kitchens?" I addressed Madame Pomfrey. "I'd like to walk around. I feel fine. And I promise to come back." I smiled at her.

She looked skeptically at Professor McGonagall, who raised an eyebrow. "You may, Miss Granger."

Really? Huh- I hadn't expected them to agree. I pulled down the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I was still wearing my clothes from this morning. My skirt had been pulled up my leg, exposing the cut. It didn't look so bad now, rather like a healing spider bite. I stood, pulled my skirt down, and fussed with my unruly hair. I retrieved my shoes from under the cot and walked toward the door.

The carpet in the Hospital Wing: amazing. It's like astroturf.

On my way down to the kitchens I tried to remember what had happened with Snape. It was like grasping at straws- straws that were lodged deep within a painful mass of screaming voices and flashes of light.

I did know one thing even without a clear view of the specifics: there's more to Snape than meets the eye.


	4. The Blood and the Elf

Lupin had gotten away.

Back to the Hospital Wing.

I scowled.

"Poppy," I snapped dismissively, striding right past her toward Granger's cot. She stepped forward with an indignant look on her face, opening her mouth to protest. There is an unspoken rule that one needs the permission of Madame Pomfrey to see a patient. I was hardly in a mood to bow to such silly niceties- that cur had tried my patience. I swept past the curtain.

She wasn't there.

I halted. "Where is Granger?" I asked angrily through my teeth, sweeping my robes back and turning about on my heel ever so slowly.

Poppy gave me a hard look and resumed folding towels, turning her back on me. "The kitchens."

What the devil was she doing in the kitchens? "Did you not hear me say that I would be back later to check on her condition?"

She continued folding. Silence. Oh, of course: she was trying to protect Granger. From me. Ridiculous.

"I take it she's walking then?"

"Walking, yes, but she is not herself."

"Fine," I said. "What, may I ask, is her condition?"

"A few minutes after you left the fit ended and I gave her additional potions. She slept for about three hours. She seems alright physically, but the cordial is still in her blood. Her mind was also very, very shaken- partially because of the cordial and partially because of all the potions. There's no way to know how she will heal or how fast. I'm still seriously concerned that-"

"Of course you're seriously concerned," I cut in, sneering. "If the giant squid were ill you'd fuss over him as if you were his own mother. I wanted an _unbiased_ opinion; your own feeble attempt at medicine will hardly do. Have you a sample?"

She looked rather taken aback, but nodded and produced a vial of crimson liquid from her robes.

The moment my fingers touched the glass, I could tell there was still something very wrong with Granger's blood. It was too viscous and too red. After nearly thirty years of potion brewing, I can tell a substance imbued with dark magic when I see one. This blood was potent. Granger was still in danger- that much dark magic in a different form could easily kill her.

I would examine the blood more extensively to determine how quickly it would be safe to venture into Granger's mind again. What a fascinating poison. I wonder- are there other potential uses for this cordial? But that was a question for another time.

I took another step toward Madame Pomfrey and glowered at her darkly. "I know you've smuggled Granger away somewhere, but don't think you can hide her from me for long. I expect to be informed the _moment_ she is recovered enough to talk. Is that understood?"

"Yes, but-"

"_Is that understood_?" I said in a deadly whisper.

"Y-yes!"

Her terrified eyes were the last thing I saw before turning on my heel.

I was descending a staircase on the second level when a chillingly familiar sound met my ears: the whistle of a falcon's wings through the air. I knew that bird. It was the Dark Lord's falcon. With a cry, the black figure flew over my head and released a slip of paper from his talons, which fluttered to my feet. I stopped and watched the falcon plunge out of sight over the banister before slowly reaching down for the note.

This was bad. Very bad. He had no particular reason to contact me.

I picked up the scrap of paper and read the unsigned message.

_I will hear your report on the girl's information at our next scheduled meeting._

Bloody Carrow! Damn him! What a pitiful excuse for a Death Eater. Blundering, careless, insubordinate, pernicious, good-for-nothing wretch! What an idiot. No subtlety at all. No sense at all either. Merlin, I _told_ him not to go off and blabber… and now we have a deadline. Damn! Why am I surrounded by incompetence! Must I do everything for everyone on _both_ sides?

I tore the scrap of paper into tiny pieces, pulled out my wand and reduced it to a dust, and then sent it up in a mushroom cloud of green flame. Damn him!

I wish I had remembered to grind the paper under my heel before lighting it. I glared at where the flame had been. I closed my eyes. A red outline of the fireball was burned into my vision. I glared at it too.

I stalked off toward the dungeons. I would scrounge around in Carrow's tiny brain and extract every detail of his treachery before punishing him for his insubordination. I wonder. How far could I go? Cruciatus? No- he wasn't even worth it. In fact, he wasn't even worth a visit- it would give him the satisfaction of knowing I took his threat seriously. It would be better to wait for Carrow to make another move. It would not take long. As I said, he has an appalling lack of subtlety.

If Carrow did this deliberately to challenge my authority, his next move would be to interrogate Granger. I could not let that happen. The Dark Lord had given me until the afternoon of the day after tomorrow, when our usual meeting occurred. Not much time. But even so, after seeing that sample of Granger's blood, I was convinced that a heavy-handed approach could permanently damage our ability to access the information. I would wait as long as possible, until the morning of the meeting, before having a chat with Granger. In the meantime, I needed a discrete, reliable way to prevent Carrow from applying his own methods.

Ah. I had a solution. I looked up and down the hallway. Deserted. I listened for a moment. Silence.

"Elf," I said. "Elf!" Nothing. Did they hear me? Bloody little midgets- leaving me to soliloquize my insanity aloud, with a dungeon wall as my audience. Maybe I needed to be more authoritative. I scowled and said impatiently, "I need a house elf. Now."

Pop! "Mmm… ma... master!"

A rather pitiful specimen, but it- he?- would suffice. The elf seemed especially wrinkly and was wearing a worn book bag as a jerkin, with holes gnawed through to accommodate his limbs. His eyes bulged out from his head; he was staring at me with awe, quivering with excitement. Pathetic.

Merlin, I _hate_ elves.

How could I make this quick? "Stop that wretched shaking, do not speak, sit down right there on the floor, and focus, if that's even possible for you." Does that cover everything?

Apparently not. He closed his mouth, sat down, and then proceeded to bend the fingers of both hands back against the floor- far back, painfully far back. "And no punishment!" I added. He stopped, but looked frantic, rolling his eyes around trying to think of a loophole.

I bent down towards him. "Sit _still_!" I hissed.

He did. Finally. Elves and their incessant bobbling and fidgeting. I cannot stand elves. They put my teeth on edge.

"We have a student who is still recovering from serious injuries," I began. The elf was listening. "You will keep an eye on her. I am holding you responsible for her well-being. If anything _serious_ happens, you will come and tell me immediately." Serious is a complicated idea. I would need to be more specific. "That would include falling down the stairs or getting in a fight or… anything that involves bleeding or significant pain." The elf stood still, his huge yellow eyes fixed on me. It was a general and diplomatic phrasing of the assignment. Even so, if one of the Carrows caught wind of it they would understand my intentions. "You may not appear to or speak to anyone but myself until further notice, unless I am around. That means no conversing with ghosts, other elves, or the student in question. Keep yourself hidden." That might take care of it. He would probably assume that I didn't want to scare Granger- if he thought at all.

"Now, in answer to my following questions you may nod or shake. Do not attempt anything else. Understood?" Nod.

"The student is Hermione Granger. Are you familiar with her?" Vigorous nod.

"Do you understand the assignment?" Nod.

"If she choked on her breakfast, would you come to me?" He contemplated. He nodded slowly. "No you idiot! Do you think I want to be informed every time the mudblood takes a bite?" The elf was shaking his head back and forth very fast, an expression of panic on his face.

I squeezed my eyes shut and massaged my temples. What a bloody awful day.

"How about if someone hexed her?" The elf gave a quick nod. That would do.

"What is your name? You may answer with one word only."

"Bibbits!" He said enthusiastically in a piping voice.

"All right, Bibbits. If I call you by name for any reason, be ready to come immediately. Now get out."

Snap!

He vanished.


	5. Anamnesis

It was one of _those_ headaches. The kind that won't go away no matter what you try. The persistent kind. The kind that aches slowly and painfully, as if the manacles from Filch's office were fastened around my head and were tightening slowly, slowly… ever so slowly.

I tried to convince myself that it wasn't so bad; I tried to distract myself by getting out of the Hospital Wing, where all there was to do was sit around and think about the pain behind my eyes. I took refuge in the library, walking gingerly so that the jarring impact of my heels against the unforgiving stone floor would not awaken the steady ache in my head. It was dinnertime, and the towering shelves of books were my private sanctuary from the few students who were studying at the tables. I walked up and down the shelves trailing a finger down the line of dusty tomes, trying to find something to read…

But I couldn't. The titles blurred in front of my eyes; I couldn't concentrate. The headache wouldn't go away. Dumbledore's face loomed before me in my mind's eye. It haunted me.

The manacles were tightening; they would crack my skull, shatter it into a thousand pieces with this dull, almost gentle ache. I cringed.

I can't remember ever having a headache like this before. When I had the time-turner, I remember being so sleep deprived that I could hardly stand, hardly breathe, hardly think from the worry- but even then the headaches were never so debilitating. But this ache isn't caused by mere stress. It's caused by ancient dark magic, as well as a great deal of worry and fear. The perfect storm.

I can't stop wondering where Harry and Ron are now. Did they get away safely? Did they remember to take my beaded handbag with them? I can't shake the feeling that they must need my help- they must be injured or bickering or… lonely. I'm lonely. I can't believe I'm stuck here, and the worst part is that I can't see a way to get back. Harry needs my help to find the Horocruxes and I'm not there for him. I'm here. With a headache so bad I can't even read.

I sank down to the floor, resting my head against a particularly large book. I felt like crying. Why won't this headache just leave me alone? I closed my eyes massaged the back of my neck. It didn't help at all. The dull ache behind my eyes didn't falter for an instant.

This wasn't anyone's fault, I reminded myself. It was just bad luck, plain and simple. Voldemort's plan was simple: scatter infamously dangerous artifacts everywhere and wait. We were bound to run into one eventually while snooping around for Horocruxes. The Ministry kept these artifacts locked up for a reason: they hurt people, often. This time, I was the casualty. There would be more, and I hope to God they don't include Harry or Ron.

I remember I saw a book of especially archaic and advanced defense magic in the restricted section once. I had flipped through the first few pages, but it was so complicated and difficult that I had decided to pursue it later. That was last year. I should have smuggled it out and read it on the spot. Something in there might have helped us. I could have, _should_ have prevented this.

And now Harry and Ron are on their own. I can't do anything to help them.

I felt a lump rise in my throat. I bit it back. I didn't want to cry; I wanted to make myself useful.

Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at me. He was telling me something. What was he saying?

I sat for a minute in silence, composing myself. I stood up again and continued walking.

I still couldn't entirely piece together my memories of Snape. That was where the image of Dumbledore came from, I felt sure. Why did Snape's worried eyes remind me of the man he killed? Had Dumbledore ever reached up to put his hand on my shoulder like that, looking up over his spectacles at me? I thought. It didn't awaken a memory. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more foreign the memory seemed. I paced through the rows and rows of books. I would come to me. My memory was becoming clearer.

I remember Snape looking for a memory of my injury. I think I gave it to him. Maybe… did he call me Granger? Was I actually hearing his thoughts?

Ah! It clicked. The image of Dumbledore- it was Snape's. It was Snape's shoulder Dumbledore was holding, Snape's eyes Dumbledore was looking up at. It was Snape who Dumbledore was talking to so earnestly. Of course it wasn't me; I wasn't tall enough. As I envisioned it, I could remember more details.

"_Please, Severus. Do not underestimate the value of our students. If you possibly can, please, protect them. It's important, Severus… Do I have your word?"_

"_The things I do for that man."_

Snape still remembers Dumbledore. The nerve; to remember with reverence the man you killed without a second thought!

I frowned at a passing book. _Wand Whiz: Principles of Spell Performance_.

Reverence. That was undoubtedly the emotion I remember from Snape's memory. Was it possible that Snape was… guilty?

It didn't make sense.

I could see Ron's face, scowling darkly the memory of our Potions Master. "Git," he would say. I could hear his voice. Snape was a git; he was a murderer. He had made his allegiance clear. Perhaps he had only troubled to diagnose my illness because he wanted to interrogate me about Harry. Maybe he was taking advantage of my mental weakness to probe around in my mind. He served Voldemort. Didn't he?

But yet he had looked worried. Genuinely worried. Concerned. And Snape remembered Dumbledore. Maybe he was actually trying to protect students.

Impossible.

Perhaps I didn't remember properly. Legilimency was a one-way art; I couldn't have heard his thoughts anyway.

Yet it seemed so real- the things I did remember. What if those were Snape's memories? Maybe Snape is a weak link. Maybe he's trapped in his own private hell of confused allegiances. Maybe Snape is my way out of this mess…

"Granger," said a low voice behind me.

I turned around. It was Amycus Carrow. He was rather bigger than I imagined him. Significantly bigger. I swallowed.

"Yes, sir?"

"Come with me."

This was bad. "Madame Pom-"

"_Come with me_," he said, his eyebrows together in an angry scowl and a glint of insane glee in his eye.

I had forgotten my headache. It was back. But now the imagined manacles were the least of my worries. Carrow grasped my elbow with a grip like iron pincers and dragged me away.


	6. Liminal

Crack!

"Master!"

I spun around. It was Bibbits.

Bibbits. Shit.

"Ooww! Oww!" He was twisting his ears off. It looked painful.

"Get control of yourself you pathetic elf," I snapped. "What happened?"

"Mmmm… mmaster!" Yes I'm master you nitwit! Moving on! "Miss Granger, she…" Yes?

He seemed to have trouble getting it out. I seized him by the neck, lifted him up with one hand and shook him, hard.

"Get _on_ with it," I whispered dangerously through my teeth.

"The Carrows are…" Torturing her. He didn't even need to finish the sentence.

It would take me forever to get back there! Damn this potion ingredient trip! I should never have left the castle; I was in the middle of the Forbidden Forest with a pack of pre-teens and one babbling house elf. I dropped the elf and started running toward the castle- bugger the first years; let them be eaten by trolls for all I care.

"Wait master," Bibbits called from behind me, wheezing between words, "I'll send you…"

Suddenly a very disconcerting sensation descended on me; I was pulled at an odd angle, each limb stretched individually, squished back together, popped inside out and right side in, and then set down hard on my feet, running straight at the wall in one of the dungeon's corridors. I tried to stop, but still slammed an arm into the stone. Bloody elf! He can transport me in a non-apparation zone but can't manage to get the end orientation right. I massaged my elbow and looked around.

I took only a moment for me to get my bearings. I was in the lower dungeons. Amycus' dark arts classroom was at the end of the hall. I could hear Granger's screams straight through the thick stone walls.

I ran.

Her screams stopped. I waved my wand and the door burst open to admit me. Granger was twitching mid-air in front of Amycus' grinning face.

"Stupefy!" I bellowed.

A bolt of red light shot toward Amycus, only to be parried by a shield spell from Alecto.

The sparks cleared. Amycus was holding Granger. I could only see the back of her head lolling to one side.

"You idiot! I told you not to do this! Do you have any idea what you've done?" I glared at them.

I raised my voice. "You take orders from ME. You OBEY them."

They looked at me, fearful.

"GET OUT! OUT!" I shouted. Amycus stumbled and threw the girl to one side. They fled.

I waited for the door to shut.

I put my wand back into my sleeve.

Their running footsteps faded.

Granger lay crumpled on the floor. A mass of brown curls obscured her face; I pulled them away. She wore the same expression of open-eyed, unblinking terror that I remember so vividly from the day of her injury. A relapse? The effects were supposedly temporary. I grasped her wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was fast, irregular, and somewhat faint. Her flesh was slightly cold to the touch. Was this shock from the cruciatus or an effect of her illness? In one case the best course of action would be to give her a calming draught and some chocolate, in the other case the very same actions might make her insanity permanent.

"Granger." I shook her arm. Nothing.

Damn. This was Amycus' fault. An aggressive, violent approach was not wise in Granger's current condition- that much was obvious. He might have ruined my source of information. I fumed. He would pay for interfering with my methods. I would plan it out carefully; it would be quite _unpleasant_.

There was nothing for it but to try and dig Granger out of her own mind. Again. I would probably hear the voices. I slowly touched a finger to my wand. I grimaced. _Legilimens_.

_Black, silent, swirling darkness. A storm at night, a suffocating fog, a tangible black that defies your effort to reach out to tear it away…_

I knew this place.

It was raw; it was powerful. It was silent.

It was the liminal space of the mind: the stage upon which all other thoughts are placed. I had been here but once before, in a different mind, a long, long time ago. A time too painful to remember…

Granger's mind at rest, thoughtless: a surreal place. A diseased place as well; liminal space is supposedly a brilliant white when the mind is pure, like at the moment of death. I needed to find Granger in her mind, awaken her thoughts, and purge the disease that must still be raging on beyond the reaches of this blackness.

I walked forward, looking in the darkness. There was nothing to see. Everywhere I turned- black.

I could hear my footsteps. Had they made noise before? It sounded like I was walking through the castle; a metal-against-rock sound, echoing off of- what? The clouds of swirling darkness? I looked down, expecting to see stone. I couldn't even see my feet through the angry black clouds.

But there was something else. I blinked. Granger's leg hovered by my waist, the black wound larger and more terrifying than I remember it that first day. Her shadowed body lay in front of me, supported by pure black, in the same crumpled position that I had seen but moments ago.

With a feeling of déjà vu, I reached up and again pulled away the curtain of dark curls that covered her face. I was almost afraid to look. I stared into the darkness for a moment. What would I do if all I saw were those terrified eyes again, those eyes that told me her mind was conscious? Could I perform another level of legilimens when I was already inside her mind?

I steeled myself and looked down. It was not what I expected.

She was asleep, her face relaxed and peaceful. A smile tugged at the sides of her lips. Her face seemed radiant against the darkness. Dark curls fell about her softly with hints of golden red. I looked back at her leg; it was white. I touched the skin where I remember the wound and felt only the give of warm flesh. She was peaceful, but yet her liminal space was a storm of darkness.

"Granger?" No answer.

I was about to shake her thigh when I realized that perhaps that was not the best way to have her awake. I settled for her shoulder.

"Granger!" I said sharply, in my best impression of my 'wake up- you're sleeping in class' voice.

Nothing.

I reached over and patted her cheek gently. It was warm. "Granger," I said in my softest voice. She stirred; she shifted. I shook her shoulder more firmly, but she stopped moving and slumbered on.

I sighed. What did I have to do to wake her? Kiss her? There was no one here to hear me, so I chuckled. Why had that even occurred to me? This was a dire situation! I was undoubtedly affected by being submersed in the mind of a hormonal teenager. I frowned. I would pay close attention to my own mental state over the next few days, just to monitor for any other effects of these voyages through Hermione's mind.

Hermione? Where had that come from?

Ah, I know. That came from my brilliant intuition. People identify far more closely with their given name than their surname. It was the obvious way to wake her.

She had reacted before when I was gentle, so I decided to use the same tactic. I put a hand over her tiny wrist and shook ever so gently.

"Hermione?"

I saw her eyes, still closed, move slightly. Then the lashes fluttered open. She blinked, confused by the darkness.

I sighed in relief. She looked up at me, confused.

"Where am I?"

Leave it to Granger to lead with a question.

I wonder if she would know if I told her. She probably researched quite a bit during Potter's dismal attempts at occlumency. I would try her. "The liminal space of your mind," I answered.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her face at eye-level with mine. She looked around excitedly, clearly fascinated. Apparently she recognized the term. The clouds seemed slightly brighter.

"Why are you here?"

The obvious question with the obvious answer.

"To drag you out of your liminal space, by the ears if necessary," I snapped.

"Oh," she said lamely. She slumped her shoulders slightly, drawing into herself. The storm raged around us.

"I think the fire and the voices are beyond this," she said, reaching out to pat the insubstantial darkness. "They came back when Carrow was…" she wasn't sure what to call it to my face. It was as I suspected then; the torture had irritated the remains of Gwyar's magic, bringing it to the surface.

But the storm was abating. The clouds were retreating and becoming lighter. This fit, the fit of fire and voices, was already subsiding. She noticed it as well.

"We should wait until the darkness leaves," she judged.

Ten points to Gryffindor. "Correct," I said. She smiled.

I sat down next to her to await the dawn.

I should be pumping her for information. Talk about being mentally vulnerable.

It didn't seem to be the right time, for some reason.

Oh hell. I remembered the Dark Lord and the threat he posed to the wizarding world. I frowned. I had to have a go.

"What did you tell Amycus?" I asked, turning to her. She had already been studying me.

"Nothing," she said, simply.

How could I ask her so that she would tell me? I couldn't very well threaten her; legilimeny and force were my weapons, and neither would work here, in her own mind. I couldn't persuade her. That would involve revealing my true motives, which were even more important to preserve than the information I wanted from her. Could I promise her something in return?

"What is Potter planning? I'll arrange for your release from the castle if you tell me."

She laughed- genuinely laughed! The grey clouds above us parted and bright, white light streamed down on us. She smiled, and her teeth gleamed. Gentle white mist danced around us. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. She looked at me mysteriously, as if she knew a secret that she wasn't sharing.

"Harry's plans are far more important than my safety; we both know that. If I tell a soul then Voldemort will know- occlumency or no occlumency."

Was that true? Could he extract information from me? He wouldn't. I knew that; he still believed in my loyalty.

Yet loyalties are very different mental objects than plans. Plans you can pick up, turn in your hand, and look at. Loyalties are large tangled nets that connect the motives for every action; you can grasp at strands and still never know their true nature. Perhaps it was wise to remain ignorant of Potter's plans. She might be right: they would be dangerous to carry around in my mind.

What I needed was a fake, a decoy.

"Miss Granger, be reasonable. If you don't tell me now, the Carrows will question you until you give them what they want or the Dark Lord himself takes an interest, and there will be no resisting him. Tell me now, and I will assist you in returning to the world at large to help your little friends," I sneered the last words.

Did she understand?

She smiled knowingly.

"Harry and I were researching a new spell; a deep, powerful magic that would provide a momentary surprise advantage. Defeating Voldemort is a task that can only be accomplished by luck. We need something to help us along in that area."

She was lying. I knew that. But no- I would suppress the idea. She had given me my decoy. The memory of her telling me, in the raw, powerful setting of her liminal space- that would be enough. I could make up the details to fit my own plans.

I looked at her frankly. She was… an ally? Did she know that I had seen straight through her lie? She gave no indication. That was the right move. If she knew then she was a threat. But she was content to walk the line between truth and lies. She didn't force my hand.

I wanted to decide if she knew. I wanted to decide if she trusted me. But I was doomed to walk the line too. It was better if I did not know.

Liminal. A place of in-between-ness. Subjective- both and neither. A threshold between. That was where we were, in more ways than one.

It was bright now, with a thin line of grey on the horizon, just as it should be. The whiteness had stopped stirring. Her hair fell down her shoulders like liquid gold.

"I'll leave," I said. "And wake you up."

She nodded. She tilted her head and smiled off into the distance.

I reluctantly pulled back from the airy beauty of her mind. I blinked, unable to see in the dank, grungy dungeon. My sight slowly returned.

She lay crumpled on the floor in front of me sleeping peacefully. Her face was radiant against the gloom of the stone floor. The soft edges of her lips curved upward in a smile.

This time I knew what I had to do.

I reached for her wrist and touched it gently. "Hermione," I whispered.

She opened her eyes.


	7. Caring

_Large hands cradled my wrist. They shook it slightly._

"_Hermione…"_

My eyes shot open. I blinked and the warm wood paneling of the dormitory ceiling swam into view.

I looked around; there was no dark figure bending over me.

My other hand snuck over to feel my wrist, where the skin was tingling, just in case. No Professor Snape.

I sighed, irritated with myself. My subconscious thoughts were still preoccupied with the events of two days ago. Every time I closed my eyes I could hear Snape's footsteps slowly approaching, I could hear his voice gruffly demanding my attention; _"Granger… Granger!"_

I could hear him whisper, _"Hermione…"_

After awaking me for the last time and summoning Madame Pomfrey, Snape had promptly departed, leaving me with my questions.

He knew I lied about Harry's plan. Didn't he?

I could picture him so clearly, sitting silently, calmly beside me, his aquiline nose in profile against the swirling grey mist of my liminal space, his eyes soft and contemplative. I remember watching his struggle to bring himself to question me. These were not the actions of a Death Eater bent on extracting information. Intuitively, I felt so sure that Snape was honestly trying to protect me.

Wasn't he? Or was it all a ruse? He was a spy; it was his job to deceive, and he was very, very adept at the art. Either he had lied to Voldemort or he had lied to Dumbledore- successfully. He could easily lie to me.

But I had felt safe with him, safer than I can remember feeling since before Voldemort returned. He knew I had lied, and he didn't care. He was on my side- he wanted me to keep my secret.

I was just me, and Snape sitting beside me, companionably watching the mist. I smiled to myself.

He had smelled… woodsy.

"I know _that_ look." Ginny poked her head into the room and grinned, with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Huh?" She bounced toward me, plopping down next to me on the bed.

"Back for less than a week and you're already daydreaming about someone," she giggled delightedly.

"Wha- I'm not daydreaming!"

"Ok, that's fine!" She raised her hands in mock surrender. "I know better than to try and wheedle it out of you. But if you want to talk…"

"Thanks," I said, standing and stretching. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. It's hard to feel unprotected and afraid with Ginny wearing her Cheshire cat expression. I put Snape out of my mind. "Unfortunately I don't have any gossip for you."

"Ah well," her face zoomed from the giant grin, to a slight pout, and then to determination. "I had something else to talk about. Did you hear about Neville?"

"No, what happened? I haven't seen him."

"Really? Blimey, I thought everyone knew." Ginny pushed her hair behind her ears and frowned. "The Carrows were getting to him. They got worse and worse until he was given detention almost every night." She stared down at her knees, eyes unfocused. "A couple weeks ago they made some comments about blood traitors that had us really worried. He's hiding now, in the Room of Requirement."

"Ginny…" I looked down at her. She had been the acting head of the DA since Harry left and I'd heard from Dean that she had kept up the fighting spirit every step of the way. Yet here she was, discouraged. I'm not the only one with problems, apparently. "It's good that he has somewhere to go," I said soothingly.

"Yes, but we can't all hide," she said bitterly. "It's not feasible in the long run, even for the people who need to be away from the Carrows. The room doesn't provide food, and Mrs. Norris is almost always in the corridor, so it's damn hard to sneak things in."

I racked my brain. It was easy to improve the taste of food, or assemble it from ingredients using magic, but the spells for increasing the quantity were tricky. The best solution would be to summon the food from somewhere… Perhaps Dobby could help. "I'll think about it, Ginny. There's bound to be a solution."

"You think?" She looked up, surprised.

"Of course. We can experiment with replenishing spells and summoning. It might be difficult, but let's face it: practically anything is easier than sneaking past Mrs. Norris."

Ginny smiled. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back Hermione! I know you must miss Harry and Ron, but we really need some new ideas in the mix around here."

"It's good to be back," I said. It is, I suppose. Maybe I can be useful here.

She stood, and turned to leave. At the door she paused, and with the sparkle returning to her eye she said "sure you won't tell me who that smile was for?"

I tilted my head to the side, remembering Snape's musky fragrance, remembering the gentleness with which he touched my wrist.

"Nobody."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

* * *

Miss is far too caring for her own good, Miss is. Miss will go and get herself in trouble with the cruel mistress and master. Then Bibbits will need to call Master again, and Master will be displeased even though I is just following my duties, I am.

Oh why did Miss agree to help! I shudder with the anticipation of Master's anger. Bibbits shakes till his very knees wobble.

Last time, Master picked Bibbits up and shook me he did. Master's black hair shook too, and his black eyes bored into my face and Master asked me questions, questions! I deserves it, I was slow. Bibbits left for but a minute to avoid that Dobby elf and by the time he got back Miss was gone! And in the confusion with Miss in the dungeons and Master in the forest, and Dobby everywhere, and needing to not be seen nor heard for Master's orders, oh I is a very bad elf! Bibbits took too long! I pulls at my ears till they hurt good and bad!

Dobby is a bad elf too- worse for not knowing his place! He wears the bright socks and the fuzzy hats and he defies Master. Humans can't see me when I hide, but elves on the lookout, like Dobby, they can. He comes looking and makes me leave. I am a good elf. I obey my orders, and my orders say to not talk to elves or Miss until Master tells me. Master has a plan. Master is devious, and thoughtful, and powerful. And terrifying.

If only I could stop Dobby and stop his curiosity and stop his following! But Bibbits can't tell him to go away. Dobby is a stupid traitor elf!

Miss leaves her tower, and I knows where she will go. I go straight to the library. Dobby in the halls he is always! Why must Miss read so much? Now she must be looking for food spells. Miss is putting herself in danger from bad mistress and master. Miss is putting Bibbits in danger of breaking his promise to Master by being spotted by Dobby.

The things she wants- so easy for elves, so hard for humans. Miss is a capable witch. Miss is a great witch. But elf magic is greater.

A thought! Bibbits knows how to keep Miss safe! Bibbits will put the food in the Room of Requirement so that Miss need not put herself in danger. Miss will not be hurt, and I will not go to Master, and Master will not be displeased with me! And Miss will be safe!

I smile my whole mouth wide. I snap my fingers. Work to be done!


	8. Noddy

**A/N:** I know it's been a while, but yes- I'm finishing this story even if it kills me! I have another five chapters written and the rest of the story planned out. You guys are gonna love it. Thank you so much for sticking with me!

Something to note: I did some minor editing of previous chapters in response to reader comments as well as to make the plot line work. Hermione was poisoned by "Gwyer's Cordial." The whole Egyptian thing just wasn't working for me. I hope you like.

* * *

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled as the heat of the Floo Network pressed in on me from all sides. My skin was assaulted with the pinpricks of embers, freezing cold with magic and therefore burning my blistering skin all the more. There are fools who prefer this tantalizing torture over the nausea of apparation. Weak. People should learn to hold on to their stomachs.

The drawing room of the Malfoy Manor materialized as the air cooled to a frigid stillness. Everything about the room was expansive. A long table sat in the middle of the vast space. The ceiling was high enough that the feeble efforts of the torches on the walls did little to illuminate the depths above, and the oppressive darkness seemed to settle over the room like fog. The Dark Lord has a flair for the dramatic. I sniffed in distain. So theatrical. He, Lucius, and Narcissa were already seated.

I stepped out of the hearth and nearly tripped over something. "Damn it all!" I caught my balance and looked around for something to swear at. At my feet, quivering from head to toe, was the tiniest house elf I had ever seen. Both of its little hands were grasping a silver shoe brush that was as long as its arm and quite a bit thicker. Evidently it had wanted to dust the soot from my boots so as not to go to the bother of cleaning the whole floor. Lazy little bugger! I glared at it. Its entire body was trembling with terror… or perhaps from the exertion of holding the giant brush.

I steeled myself and looked around for Lucius. "I see that you have acquired new…_help_," I said icily.

Lucius scowled and opened his mouth to deliver a reprimand when the Dark Lord chuckeled. "Oh Severus, the look on your face is priceless." He was in a good mood today. "A house elf who is unhelpful- think of that!" He smiled at the elf in a way that I knew boded badly for the tiny creature and beckoned. In a fatherly tone he continued, "you are quite young yet, but you really must learn…"

"Noddy is sorry sir," the elf squeaked, twisting its ears, "Noddy will punish herself, sir. I is just going to clean…"

"Now, now, enough of that." The Dark Lord grinned and drew his wand from his sleeve. "Since you cannot possibly punish yourself enough by twisting those big ears of yours," he leaned toward the elf and said in a whisper, "I'll help you a bit."

"_Crucio_."

I looked back and forth between the writing little body and the amused eyes of my master. The shoe brush fell to the floor, but the clatter of metal against stone was lost in the noise. It seems that infant elves shriek in octaves with which I do not have previous experience. Noddy's giant eyes twitched in their sockets, and filled with glistening tears.

Pathetic. Not only the elf; also the Dark Lord. To defeat a foe, to torture an enemy, to vanquish an opponent. These things I enjoy. My master takes pleasure in tormenting this pathetic creature.

It will be bloody difficult for me to feign respect today.

"Get out of my sight, elf," I said in disgust as I swept over to my place and seated myself. She disappeared with a final sob and a crack, leaving the shoe brush behind her.

"You have quite the talent for surprising entrances," Lucius drawled, adopting the casual amusement of our master.

I cleared my mind, looking him in the eye with mock irritation. "Indeed."

"So- to business!" The Dark Lord steepeled his fingers, smiling.

I had been summoned to report on Granger. I spoke swiftly and inserted a few corrections, trying to disguise the fact that I had already chosen my words carefully. "As you know, Granger arrived at Hogwarts a few weeks ago in a state of mental collapse, she had been touched by a small amount of Gwyar's Cordial, or rather, a few drops entered her blood through a cut in her skin. She has had periodic relapses of mental weakness, which I used two days ago to access her liminal space."

My master raised an eyebrow. "And you found…" he prompted.

I looked him straight in the eye. "She admitted that Potter is trying to create a spell, something to give him an advantage." I scowled. "Of course, Potter can't even execute existing spells without the coddling of every teacher at the school. It's Granger who was doing all the research, bloody bushy-haired know-it-all that she is. She and Potter and that Weasley had been looking for the spell books in the Cambriae Collection."

Narscissa laughed. "The mudblood girl thinks she can create a spell to defeat the Dark Lord himself?"

"Foolish," Lucius tisked.

"Of course, she has no chance of succeeding," I said impatiently, "however she did correctly identify the appropriate materials to study. Merlin created some of our most fundamental spells, and his notes are amongst the documents in the Collection."

Fairly convincing. Hermione gave me a good story to work with.

Not Hermione. Granger.

"Ten points to Gryffindor?" The Dark Lord teased.

"Yes, and fifty points _from_ Gryffindor for being caught," I added.

"Well," said the Dark Lord, "I expected Potter to do something like this, something that shows him to be severely over-confident in his own abilities. What did the mudblood have to say about what the Order is up to?"

Ah. My chance to keep her alive. "The fit did not last long enough for me to question her further, but I'm sure there will be more opportunities. I may even be able to access her liminal space at will by experimenting with her blood, it still is potent with the effects of the cordial."

"It really is a shame that the rest of the cordial is gone." The Dark Lord knitted his eyebrows and looked genuinely remorseful. "I don't suppose, Severus, that you could whip up a fresh batch?"

I smiled slightly. "The thought had occurred to me, my lord. It would be near impossible to recreate the ancient potion, but I might be able to mimic some of the effects."

"Excellent!" The Dark Lord clapped his hands together. "Make it your top priority! That is all. Now where did that elf get to. I need some entertainment…"

I bowed my leave and hastened to the fireplace. I was engulfed by flames just as Noddy's abject screams filled the expanse of the drawing room.

* * *

Young Miss is shivering in her sleep, she is. Master would be mad if I told him. Only report 'serious' things, he says. Bibbits is obeying Master! He says for me to protect Miss, and Bibbits will! I is a good elf!

When Miss falls asleep when reading she forgets to put on her warm night clothes. The castle is chilly in the night. I knows it. Bibbits has felt the drafts through these halls for this many a year. The cold it seeps into my old bones, it does.

I pull the blanket at the foot of Miss' bed up over her little shoulders. Miss slumbers on.

I sit myself down at the foot of her bed. Bibbits cannot rest. Bibbits must watch over young Miss.


	9. Laundry

Laundry is my favorite, I think.

It was a Saturday morning and I was visiting Neville in the Room of Requirement. He was still fast asleep in the facsimile of a Gryffindor dormitory, and I didn't want to wake him just yet. The overflowing hamper by his bed gave me a new puzzle to work out. It was easy enough to wash clothes by magic, but I knew that Neville's cleansing charms just didn't achieve that soft, fresh, warm, snuggly feeling of sweaters just out of the dryer. And that feeling was just what Neville and I needed— to freshen up from the gloom that permeates the rest of the castle.

The Room of Requirement had happily provided me with a delightful little laundry room. It had cheerful yellow walls and four shiny dryers atop four shiny washers. There was a table in front of them for folding clothes and it had detergent and dryer sheets on a shelf that was pushed against the wall next to an enchanted sunny window.

I hopped up on the table and swung my legs happily. I closed my eyes. It was warm. It smelled deliciously of _clean_. The washers were merrily lathering the fabric with sudsy water. I watched the dryers rhythmically toss the clothes around and around and around, efficiently whisking them about in the warm air.

Decadent. The Room was just pampering me. And doing a mighty fine job of it.

"Thank you," I murmured to no one in particular.

Laundry is a cleansing experience; it's soothing and relaxing and clarifying.

Hmmm. Maybe this is a good time to remember those details that escape me about Snape's visit to the hospital wing.

The memory of Dumbledore- that was the most vivid image I'd received. I tried to remember every detail. _The old wizard's hand on my shoulder, peering into my eyes. "__Please, Severus. Do not underestimate the value of our students. If you possibly can, please, protect them. It's important, Severus… Do I have your word?_" The things I do for that man… halfway between my own mind and Granger's…

I could hear Snape's sarcasm saturating the thought. And he'd called me Granger with that sneering tone he always used when I answered a question too well. That man is competitive. With me. Ha.

It was definitely his memory. Which doesn't make sense at all. Snape had performed legilimency on me to reveal my condition and legitimacy is a one way art. How did I hear his thoughts?

I thought back again to the painful moment when he entered my mind. I tried to remember every detail; I could almost feel the burning sensation in my leg...

_Legilimens. Pain. Screaming, running. Legilimens. Granger's terrified eyes. This is something that happens to amateur legilimens… _

That was where it had started. My eyes were the first thing I could remember from Snape's perspective. That was when the pain from my own mind had been muted by Snape's thoughts. It was almost as if I had performed legilimens on Snape at the same time that…

Oh hey! There's an idea. But I would have needed a wand.

And I had a wand! Professor McGonagall told me I wouldn't let it go. I must have sensed escape through Snape's mind and reflexively cast legilimens nonverbally.

Cool. Nice instinct on my part. All thanks to Harry of course- helping him with his legilimency lessons, starting the D.A., and tagging along on dangerous adventures. I have survival skills. Convenient, apparently.

It's also quite a relief to know for sure that Snape is on my side. Whatever complicated game our arrogant, judgmental, mean, dangerous, musky-smelling potions master is playing, he'll help defeat Voldemort. I stared at the clothes tumbling in the dryer.

Neville came lumbering in, stretching and bleary eyed, a few minutes later.

"Hullo 'Mione. What's all the noise?"

"Dryers!" I said cheerfully, presenting him with a stack of folded shirts. "Your laundry wasn't getting done, and this is the perfect way for you to easily implement magical cleansing spells. Here, I'll show you how to do it."

"Not nooow," Neville wined, rubbing his eyes and wandering away. "Breakfast first."

"About that," I said, setting the shirts back on the table and scampering after him, "we need to discuss the food situation." I trailed after him into the bedroom.

"We do?"

Neville sat down at the small table next to his bed. The small table which now had a plate heaped high with scrambled eggs and sausage and bacon and toast. There was a mug of steaming hot coffee.

That was definitely not there when I arrived.

"Neville, where did all that come from?"

He swallowed a giant mouthful of sausage. "The kitchens?"

"You mean… did someone bring it just now?"

"No."

Bizarre. If the food just appears, then the elves must know that someone is living here. "How long has this been happening?"

Neville shrugged. "Couple days. There's lunch and dinner too. Right on time."

Definitely elves. I wonder how they found out. Hopefully it was Dobby- if any of the other elves knew they might feel it their duty to inform the headmaster. Or worse, the Carrows.

I considered summoning Dobby to question him, but decided to wait. Who knows how elf-appariation works in a room that doesn't always exist. Especially after requesting that the room only be accessible to members of the DA.

"Alright. I guess the food problem is solved. Finish breakfast and then I'll introduce you to the fine art of laundry."

Neville took a moment to make a face at the muggle task and then began decimating the waffles.


	10. A Nasty Habit

Two sets of footsteps were approaching. They reverberated off the stones in the passageway outside my laboratory in the dungeons. I dipped my quill into the inkwell and busied myself as the pair entered the room.

"Here she is, sir."

Useful little errand boy, aren't you Draco? I carefully finished my sentence before deigning to look up at them. A few locks of Draco's blond hair were ever so slightly out of place, and he was wearing a slightly irritated expression. Or perhaps that was just Narcissa's looks finally coming out in the boy. Hermione looked utterly calm in comparison. In fact, she looked curious- interested even, as if…

Damn.

Granger. Not Hermione. _Granger_.

I scowled. I need to stop making that mistake. And she shouldn't look so bloody happy!

"Sorry I took so long sir," Draco must have noticed my displeasure, "I looked all over the-"

"Not-" I cut him off sharply "-to worry Draco," I emphasized every syllable. "I'm sure Miss Granger was just hiding herself away in some dark corner of the library." I glared at her. At _Granger_.

"I checked-"

"Thank you, Draco." I gave him a polite smile. Brat. "You've been very helpful. You may go."

I rose from my seat and watched the arrogant little prig leave. When he was gone I flicked my wand to close the door. The latch made a metallic click as it set.

"When do I leave?" She asked immediately. I turned. She looked at me expectantly. The red trim of her Gryffindor robes made the warm brown of her eyes glow against the gloom of the dungeon.

Leave? Ah yes. I suppose I had promised her freedom if she told me Potter's plans.

I sniffed dismissively. "The Dark Lord has other plans for you."

Her eyebrows came together in a frown. "You said-"

"You're not leaving." My tone left no room for argument.

She looked unsurprised. Apparently she expected me to break my word. Unfortunate. That is to say, it would be easier to control her if I had her trust. "Why did you have Malfoy drag me down here?"

"You were not dragged." I snapped. "If I had wanted you dragged I would have sent a Carrow. They would have tossed you head over heels down the stairs and you would have arrived bruised all over with your knickers on display."

She raised an eyebrow. Bloody disrespectful! I resisted the urge to pound my fist on something. Bickering is a waste of time. I pulled out a chair for her opposite mine. "Sit," I ordered.

"What do you know of _esse potare_, Miss Granger?" I asked as we seated ourselves.

"It's a method of separating the essential part of a potion from other ingredients that were used only to aid in the brewing process," she recited. "Sometimes it's used to purify mixtures and increase their potency."

She pushed a bundle of curls over her shoulder. At this close distance I could detect a refreshing, clean fragrance. I sniffed. This dungeon had seen one too many pungent beetle carcasses and not enough cleansing charms. Perhaps I could get a few detention students out of harms' way by making them clean my laboratory.

"And how is this method executed?"

"I don't know. It's very advanced, it's usually better just to practice good brewing technique in the first place."

"A textbook answer," I sneered. "From _Apostol's Tome of Potion Procedures_, in fact. Obviously there are cases when _esse potare_ is the only option. Such as when a valuable, but harmful potion must be separated from another equally valuable substance."

It took only a moment for comprehension to dawn in her eyes. "Like my blood, which contains a few drops of Gwyar's cordial."

"Correct." I said. "Most poisons will either degrade over time or be flushed out of the body. It seems that the cordial does neither. The same amount of cordial is in your blood as was present three weeks ago when you first arrived. With _esse potare_, I can set up a sort of filtration system to extract all of the cordial."

Probably. It would be devilishly complicated, but it seemed reasonable that it should work.

Oh hell- I didn't need to read her mind to know that the skeptical tilt of Granger's eyebrow meant she too realized the danger of such a procedure. If it went wrong she could end up losing a great deal of blood.

"Obviously, I will begin with a few tests."

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "You want my blood."

"Yes."

"You can't have it. I know the kind of things you could do with it."

Bloody know-it-all! She was unfortunately correct. "Miss Granger," I said, exasperated, "There are pathetically theatrical dark wizards who dabble with blood curses or similar nonsense. I can curse you quite effectively in the usual way and therefore have no need for such gimmicks."

She studied me carefully. For the second time, her composure surprised me. "Valuable potion…" she said softly, "it's the cordial that you want. Curing me is just a side effect."

"The Dark Lord has taken an interest." I said dryly.

"Well then you most certainly cannot have my blood!" She put both hands on the table and leaned forward as if to spit in my face.

I copied her posture. "Listen Granger. You are alive because you have two things the Dark Lord wants: the last of a powerful ancient potion in your blood and secrets of the Order in your head. The longer your blood is tainted the more likely you are to have another relapse, and I may not be there to save your miserable life again. Even if you do succeed in keeping your secrets, the Dark Lord eventually will drain you dry to get a few drops of potion. So use those brains you pride yourself on and _listen to reason_."

I debated using legilimency as she considered. But it's better if I don't know if she trusts me. I could take her blood by force, of course, but then she would be convinced that I was going to use it for some devious purpose. If I am to protect her and the secrets she holds she must at least listen to my advice. She wore a mutinous expression as she opened her mouth to deliver a retort…

I reached out and gently touched her wrist. "Hermione…"

She froze. Merlin, I'd done it again.

Shit. How many times have I done that now? It's getting to be a habit. One I _must_ break. Her name is Granger. And I should not be touching her.

On the positive side, it did seem to yield results. Her skin was warm and smooth. Her pulse accelerated, but as I pulled her arm toward me and she didn't resist. I pushed up the sleeve of her robe to reveal an ivory forearm. I quickly cast a desensitizing spell on the silky skin and cut into a vein, letting her blood flow into a vial. When it was barely half full, I healed the cut.

A few drops of crimson remained. I dampened a cloth and wiped them away.

"Thank you." She said, looking me straight in the eye. "For trying to heal me."

She held my gaze the way no man or woman has dared to hold it for decades. I saw- in her eyes, in the relaxed tilt of her head, the careless way she was still leaning forward- I saw trust.

It was too much. I couldn't hold her gaze.

"This is for the Dark Lord."

"Of course."

She left, with that soft, mysterious smile on her lips. I could still smell the bright, fresh scent she had introduced to my laboratory.


	11. Inside Source

"Tata, Hermione." Lavender tossed her hair as she left the dormitory, trying for a final time to make it look naturally tousled.

Whew. I thought she would never leave. It amazes me every time that she can spend so much time combing her hair straight and then teasing it back into looking the way it did when she woke up.

Finally time for business! Malfoy had hunted me down before I'd had the chance to question Dobby yesterday, and by the time I got back from Snape's office there was too much Saturday-night entertainment going on for a private discussion. "Dobby!"

Crack!

"Miss Hermione!" Dobby's face seemed to expand in size as his smile stretched from ear to ear. His ears set back happily and the hats he had stacked on his head tilted precariously to the side. "I am at your service," he grinned.

"Aww, it's good to see you too Dobby!" I couldn't help but smile back. He was so genuine. Every time someone told me to forget S.P.E.W. I would think of Dobby. I fixed his smile in my mind. "Please sit down, I have a couple questions for you."

Dobby beamed with pride at the invitation, and scrambled up on a chair next to my own.

"Right, so… um." While everything pointed to the elves knowing about Neville, if I was wrong and they didn't already know then I wouldn't be the one to tell them. How to phrase the question? "Er, I was wondering if the elves have been making special food deliveries to any new locations."

Dobby shook his head, ears flapping. "No miss, we is not."

No? "Really? You're not?"

"I is not. And I have not noticed the other elves either. But Dobby is a free elf, and the other elves can be too!"

"You mean there might be an elf you _don't_ know about that's delivering the food." I guess I implied that it's happening. Whoops.

In a conspiratorial tone, Dobby leaned forward, his eyes wide. He looked around theatrically and whispered loudly "I thinks there's an elf I _do_ know about who's doing things by his self."

Don't elves do things by themselves? By Dobby's manner, I guess not. "No!" I said in an equally loud whisper.

"Yes!" Dobby continued dramatically, "I has been watching this elf, I has! He is up to something! Dobby knows, Miss, when there's something… suspicious going on. It tingles my ears, it does."

Ears, huh? "Has this elf been putting food in the Room of Requirement?" Oops! Shouldn't have said that. I am bad at this.

"I don't know."

"Oh."

"Because I can't find him."

"Wait, but you said you'd been watching this elf. Is he missing?"

Dobby shook his head, clearly frustrated that I didn't understand. "No, no, miss. This elf, one day he just stopped helping with the food and the cleaning and the upkeep and the house-elf jobs. It's not like him. He is a good elf. I tried to find him, I caught glimpses of him I did; he was trying to stay out of sight. Sneaking around the castle." Dobby crinkled up his nose in distaste. "House elves, we keep ourselves out of sight of our masters, Miss, but we never goes out of our way to avoid each other. Stupid hiding Bibbits! Aaa-!" Dobby slapped hands over his mouth, his eyes wide.

So an elf called Bibbits was avoiding everyone else. "That's alright, Dobby. When did this Bibbits start hiding?"

"Um, Dobby isn't quite sure. Me thinks maybe three weeks?"

About when I arrived. "You said you caught sight of him a few times, where was he? What was he doing?"

"In the library, looking around corners, here, in the great hall… Miss, I think Bibbits is following you. That is why Dobby tried to find out."

If I did have a little elf stalker, it would explain how he found out about Neville's need for meals. But why was this Bibbits following me? There was an easy way to find out. "Bibbits!" I said, loudly.

Dobby looked around expectantly. Nothing happened. He swung his little legs, complete with two mismatched socks. "Bibbits, come here and show yourself." Nothing. "Dobby, maybe Bibbits isn't here anymore." Maybe he died. What happens when a house elf dies?

Dobby shook his head. "I sees him Miss, just the other day. Bibbits is here. Bibbits is just not obeying you Miss."

"Does he think I'm a blood traitor, is that it?" I asked, remembering Kreacher.

"We elves, we serve the inhabitants of this castle," Dobby said with a rater patriotic air. "You are Bibbits' master regardless."

"Why isn't he coming then?"

"He must have been ordered not to. And there's only one person whose orders supersede the orders of other masters."

The master of Hogwarts. The Headmaster. Snape. He was having me followed by an elf. Why? To report if I tried to escape? I knew all too well that the gates were guarded and such an attempt would be futile. Perhaps… to protect me? This elf seemed to want to be helpful. I suddenly remembered a series of small events that I had thought little of before. Stooping down to re-tie my shoelaces, only to find them completely neat. An extra blanket neatly coverning my bed- one I don't recall pulling on. Snape's convenient arrival when he Carrows were torturing me.

"Thank you Dobby," I said, shaking his hand seriously, "you've been a great help."

He beamed. "You're welcome, Miss Hermione! I is needing to get back to work!"

"Oh course. I may call you again."

"Yes Miss!" He squeaked. And with a pop, he took his leave.


	12. Gregory

A fascinating potion. Brilliant- absolutely genius.

I held up the tiny vial of liquid. It defied my expectations. Gwyar's cordial is no ordinary poison. Instead of the usual poison ingredients- crisped imp skin for fiery pain, iris stamens for summoning the content of nightmares, dragon milk for counteracting other potions, I found only star spider thread, an ingredient used to silence unwanted thoughts.

Most of the components I could not identify, but there was one more I thought I could pinpoint- tears of some kind. I tested for the usual- infant, widow, water sprite - nothing. I tested for the rarer varieties- phoenix, nymph, dragon. It eluded me.

Then I found it. They were Morpheus tears.

Bloody brilliant.

I rose from my bench and walked away from this new marvel I have found, only to turn back to examine it again.

Morpheus tears had been used in the past to create potions that exchange the usual dream state for a lucid nightmare. It was prized by those who valued their control so much they were willing to sacrifice all the happiness from their dreams. Gwyar's cordial does not create pain. Instead it clears the mind and the senses and summons forth evil with which the mind must grapple with terrifying clarity, only to forget the struggle at the edge of consciousness.

A nasty little brew. I can't believe I didn't think of it myself.

My original suspicion was correct- it would in fact be impossible to create more of the same potion; Morpheus bats had disappeared long ago. Instead I could amplify the potion and add a few of my own touches to create an equally effective, if less elegant, brew.

I should finish marking essays before indulging myself in a new challenge.

Ah, right. I have no essays to grade. I have no classes to teach. No students to punish. No fellow professors to tolerate.

My, it is good to be…

"Headmaster."

Alecto. Shit. I knew there was a reason I hated this job.

How the hell had she gotten in here without my noticing? Like a child with a new toy I'd let my guard down. Idiot!

I cleared my mind and looked up. "Yes."

Alecto's stocky body settled itself into a defiant posture. "Have you anything to report on the mudblood's knowledge of order activities?"

"No. My efforts have been directed elsewhere."

"Well then Amycus and I will take her interrogation off of your hands."

That had been a poor choice of words on my part. "You will not. I have need of her."

I noted Alecto's pudgy hands clench into fists as she tried to moderate her temper. "Your mental techniques are all very well, but it seems that more traditional methods would yield results more quickly. The Dark Lord wishes-"

"The Dark Lord ordered me to make the reconstruction of Gwyar's Cordial my priority, as it could have significant consequences for our interrogation methods in general. This is about more than _just Granger_." I spat dismissively. "Her blood is required for my research, and I warn you Alecto," I dropped my voice and advanced on her, "if you so much as touch the mudblood you will have endangered that goal and disobeyed my instructions. And I will be most displeased."

I halted my approach less than a foot from her face. She swallowed and set her chin a notch higher, her beady eyes shifting away from mine. Was she afraid? Or defiant?

I touched a finger to my wand. Her eyes would not meet mine. "Is that understood?" She pursed her lips… finally her eyes flickered up…

_Legilimens_.

I expected her thoughts to be dull. They usually are. But the fervor of her thoughts was noticeable today. I peered into her mind.

_A volley of curses hurtling through the air… Death Eaters moving in on a group of Aurors. Hissing, sparking, spitting jets of hexes… the dull thud of a body hitting the floor, dead. _

"_Severus, stop-" Lucius' voice. _

_The noise had stopped. Turning to see… a Death Eater, Snape by his stature, holding the last Auror to the wall by his throat. The man's legs were dangling and a gagging sound escaping his mouth in the unnatural quiet. "Oh come, Severus, let us all have a share of the fun. We can't kill him just yet."_

_Looking around for Amycus… he's there. Undamaged. Good._

"_What enchantments guard the next room?" Severus's whispered threat… he leaned toward the auror's ear… the man shook his head…_

"_Tell me!" Louder. A Command._

"_Kill me," the man said._

"_Yes, kill him, but not before he tells us- uuh!" Lucius said. He tries to pry Snape's arm away from the man's throat, Snape knocks him in the face._

_Snape suddenly lets go of the man, who crumples to the floor._

_Snape stands tall, deigning to look down at the thing at his feet. The irritated jut of his chin… _

"_I am going to count to three. There will not be a four." Snape said. The consonants lashed out at the man._

"_One."_

_The man tries to raise his head… slumps back._

"_Two." _

_Lucius' eyes flick from the man to Snape and back._

"_Three." _

_The man glares up at Snape. Daring him._

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_A green flash. A dark red after image._

"_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Lucius screamed. "WE NEEDED-"_

"_Damn it all Lucius! We are perfectly capable of identifying and disabling a few bloody insignificant protection charms! I have little patience for…" They stride away…_

_Catch Amycus' eye. Do not dare Snape. Do not try his patience…_

As her memory fades I withdraw into my own skin.

"Understood."

"You're dismissed."

She retreats. More quickly than usual. I sat back down on my bench. How was I going to begin? I don't recall…

His name was Gregory- the man I killed in her memory. He had been a student during my first two years as potions master. A Ravenclaw. He had a steady hand and a narrowly focused mind. A good student. As such, I was especially hard on him. Gregory had always disliked me, for no particular reason other than listening to public opinion. Then I killed Dumbledore, and he hated me.

I remember that final expression on his face- his disbelief, his inexperience, his complete lack of comprehension of that which can drive a man to do the unspeakable.

I killed him to spare him the torture that would otherwise have preceded his death. Gregory and I, we were on the same side. He was too dim to conceive of the courtsey I paid him. He could not understand. Few can- I can think of only two. The first I killed and he fell from the astronomy tower into oblivion.

And the second. I could see her now, sitting before me as if she were real, her soft, trusting gaze penetrating my disguise. Dangerous. And yet she is also my greatest ally.

I knew what would happen to her if I failed. I could imagine them tearing away that delicate white flesh of her arms, the flesh that I had so carefully tended. I could see those huge brown eyes shut tight against the pain, her eyebrows drawn up in agony, the screams…

It will only be a matter of time before my excuses run out. I need to have a plan.

I could save her the way I had saved George and the way I had saved Albus. I could kill her myself.

No. It would not work.

I couldn't. Damn. I couldn't kill Hermione.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally- I got to quote Die Hard! If you haven't seen Die Hard you MUST see Die Hard! You will love Alan Rickman even more than before. Yes. It's possible.

To my reviewers, I have two words for you: _thank you!_ You guys make my day.


	13. Muffliato

"You wanted to see me, professor?"

Snape stood behind a large workbench at the far end of his laboratory, carefully mincing valerian root with a silver knife. I closed the massive dungeon door behind me. The air was still and frigid. I shivered. Perhaps it's all part of a devious plot of Snape's: wear lots of warm, black clothing and keep rooms so cold that no one stays to chat. I wouldn't put it past him. Misanthrope.

"Yes." He did not look up. The knife flashed silver beneath his hands as he continued to slice the black flesh with rhythmic accuracy. Dark liquid fled in tiny rivulets, trickling downard into the bowl beneath. "I require another blood sample."

"I have questions first." Snape's eyes flashed with irritation as I crossed the room. I suppose he expected me to stop before the table, and have our chat with five feet between us. Perhaps another plot: arrange the room so that he has a stronghold to defend. I circled round the table and faced him, close enough to notice his posture tense ever so slightly. His long fingers were dyed black and he was still clutching the knife. God, with that stance he could be contemplating commit murder. Fortunately, appearances are deceiving. At least I think.

Now for some privacy. "_Muffliato_," I said quietly.

"You can't just barge in here and question me, Granger," he sneered, "it's the other way around. Now roll up your sleeve and-"

"You've been having me followed," I said. Not in an accusing way, in a curious way. "By Bibbits."

He's good. Really good. Not a muscle moved in his face. "That wasn't a question."

"I want to know why."

"Why?" His lip curled and he and resumed chopping, this time at a more rapid and slightly less even pace. "Isn't it obvious? You were in a delicate medical state and I had to ensure that your recovery was not hindered."

"Do you mean you were concerned that I might get hurt?"

"You have information valuable to the Dark Lord." He parroted the crutch phrase. His long fingers darted out to grasp a long-handled pewter spoon. He thrust it at me, scowling. "Stir. Seven times counterclockwise and then once clockwise. About the edge."

I stirred the potion slowly. It was the Draught of Living Death, currently a lovely shade of lilac. It would be finished when it became as clear as water. Snape's dicing returned to its usual absolute precision. "You're protecting the students," I ventured. "We both know this. Now let's just establish that and move on from there. I'm using Muffliato, remember."

"Using my own spells against me…" He frowned and shook his head. "Have I answered your question?"

"I have one more."

"Very well."

"I am going to ask a favor."

"Of me? A Death Eater? Minerva would tell you that you are very foolish indeed…"

"Professor McGonagall does not know what I know. I know you want to help. And I'm asking for that help now. Professor, I want you to help me leave the castle."

He stroked a hand through his hair, slicking it back. I've never seen him touch his hair. "That may not be possible," he said finally.

"And what happens when you finish with my blood? What then? Do you have a plan, because I don't think you do! Right now I'm headed for torture and death from the Carrows or torture and death from V-"

"ENOUGH!" He thundered. He set down the knife. "I'll think of something. I give you my word."

The spoon fell from my fingers and dropped into the cauldron, spattering liquid as the heavy handle hit the potion. I felt a drop hit my temple, and blinked in surprise. Really? Snape would help me?

"Goodness Granger, if you didn't look so startled I would give points to Gryffindor for your attempt to sabotage my work by emulating the fine example of Neville Longbottom," he said with amused sarcasm. He peered down his nose at the potion. "Unfortunately for you it's already finished brewing, so you failed to disturb the stirring sequence. Now clean yourself up and sit down over there. I'll take your blood."

I looked down to see grey dots sprinkled all over my dark robes where the draught had wicked away the existing dye. I pulled them off and _Scourgified_ them, setting them on the back of the chair Snape had pointed. I wish I wasn't blushing so much.

Snape swooped over, holding a casket of vials and beakers. He removed a concerningly large flask and set it on the table. I eyed it apprehensively.

He cleansed my arm, cut into the vein, and placed the rivulet of crimson over the flask. I winced. Not that it hurt, but I hate the thought of cutting my skin. Drops of blood dripped down onto the glass below.

"Since you'll be giving a larger sample I'll put an incantation on the vein so that it does not clot prematurely." He muttered for a moment, and immediately the pace of the drops of blood increased and I felt my skin go fuzzy. It felt rather like a mosquito bite.

"It's itchy."

"Well don't think about it," Snape snapped.

Right. So… what is there to think about. My death- a big preoccupation at the moment. "Perhaps you could fake my death," I mused aloud. "Then I could leave Hogwarts and no one would hunt me down." I squirmed in my seat. I _really_ want to itch my arm.

"You'd just get into trouble again."

"How about I fake my own death? No assistance needed. Then when I get caught V-, uh, the Dark Lord won't suspect you."

"_No_," Snape said emphatically. "Consider that it has become necessary to present the Dark Lord with the corpse."

Reasonable, I suppose. Not quite foolproof, but a good way to verify that people are dead.

"Especially for mudbloods," Snape continued.

Like… to save their heads? Impale them on spikes for decoration? Scalp them?

"Well," he continued thoughtfully, "mudblood females."

Wha- wait… like necrophil- ewwww!

"Merlin, girl. Don't believe everything I tell you. What a fascinating expression." I snapped my mouth shut. "Although, in all seriousness, to convincingly fake a death I would very much need a corpse. And this is all the blood I require for the moment. See how it doesn't itch when you take your mind off it?"

Of all the disturbing things to joke about he had to pick that one. I glared at him as he removed the incantation and healed the cut. The itching sensation dissipated and was replaced with a raw ache. I stood and my vision wavered; I put a hand on the table to steady myself. I shivered violently. He had taken much more blood this time. I closed my eyes.

"I forgot," he said, "that I keep his room so cold." He removed my cloak from where I had draped it over the chair and put it around my shoulders. I could sense his familiar musky smell. With a final shiver, I opened my eyes to see the top two buttons of his robes staring at me. I looked up.

He slowly reached a hand to my chin and another to my cheek. He tilted my head and rubbed my temple with his thumb, his other fingers buried in my hair. "It will stain." His hands were warm and smooth. Oh right- the bit of the draught that had spattered on me. Had to get that off. Definitely. The hand on my chin slid softly down my neck. I must have juice there too. His hands lingered.

"Hermione," he said. My breath caught in my throat. "Be. Careful." He shook me a little with each word. "Bibbits will tell me if you're in danger, but it only takes one curse to kill you."

I trembled under his touch. He pulled away. "You're cold. Go back to your tower. And don't venture out alone."

I stepped back, my legs shaky. It took all my strength to pull open the heavy dungeon door.

"Goodbye." My voice cracked.


	14. A Storm and a Plan

The sound of curses hissing through the air was my only guide as I made my way through the darkness. An onslaught of cold, angry raindrops found their way to my skin even through my thick robes. My boots plunged into the mire. Bloody miserable weather- I hate the outdoors. If the Dark Lord has any taste he will have retreated to the mansion.

Bellatrix's laughter carried on the gusts of wind, and I watched her eagerly dart forward toward a prone, twitching figure. The raid must be over and the investigation must have begun. Her hair whipped about in the wind, as she toyed with her prey, caressing his neck with the tip of her wand. Something about the victim's face was familiar. The wide mouth, the way his jaw line was pronounced by his thin cheeks… ah. It was a ministry official in the Department for Controlled Magical Substances- Garland, Bradley Garland. I'd butted heads with him on more than one occasion over safety procedures for storing potion ingredients. For such a little man he was a damn nuisance, and I'd frequently considered hexing him. Bella was searing doodles into his flesh with a flame from her wand. Interesting. That's a new one.

"Bella," I acknowledged her as I passed. She looked up at me with a gleeful smile on her face, her hands dripping with blood and dirt smearing her cheek. If she wasn't insane she would be beautiful in a fierce, passionate kind of way.

A burnt smell filled my nostrils as I entered the mansion. Curtains of sleet flung themselves against the window panes. The Dark Lord stood before the bay windows, watching Bellatrix play with her new toy. He was still, unaffected by nature's display of fury taking place before him. He continually re-defines my understanding of what it means to be cold and unfeeling.

Today I will be able to muster honest respect for the man.

"My lord," I said. I assumed a similar position beside him.

"Have you succeeded, Severus?"

I have struggled with the answer to this question for weeks, and have still not decided upon a solution. If I reported success in brewing something similar to Gwyar's Cordial, half of Hermione's hold on life, the value of her blood, would be forfeit. Yet if I delayed a moment too long then the Dark Lord would lose faith in me, and I would lose my ability to protect her.

I watched Bella tear at Garland's flesh. Her grin was gone, her face was contorted with rage as she gnashed her teeth at the bloodied body before her. If she ever got her hands on Hermione- a shudder crawled down my spine before I could control myself. Bloody hell- if the Dark Lord saw that… It's freezing. That will be my excuse.

"I believe so, my Lord," I said quietly. Good news will keep his mind off my spine.

"You _believe_ so?"

His doubt hung in the air. I looked through the tempest and I imagined Bellatrix's hands piercing Hermione's delicate skin where Garland's should be. All I could think of was Hermione's bruised and bloodied body flung on the ground for the next Death Eater to enjoy. Where Garland's corpse would soon be, I could see Hermione's. His body would be abandoned here, unburied. I could see Hermione sprawled in the mire, forgotten…

Wait.

Forgotten…

A corpse. Just what I need.

Merciful Merlin, I am so brilliant. _So bloody brilliant_. Leave it to my quick wits to come up with a plan just in the nick of time.

"I have yet to test the potion, and it is rather hard to predict the appropriate dosage for this type of brew. I may well kill my first test subject in an attempt to determine the appropriate dose."

"Ah. Well, you have plenty of test subjects."

"Parents have a nasty habit of noticing when their children go missing," I said gloomily. "Besides, if I'm correct and the brew is successful, I would not want to waste it on first years." Take the bait- take it…

"Test on this one then." He nodded toward Garland. "Bellatrix doesn't seem to be getting far with him."

Perfect.

"What was it you wanted to know from him?"

"Oh, the usual," he turned to leave and waved a hand dismissively. "Identities and locations of mudbloods, traitors in the ministry. You know. Once you have the dosage make sure to interrogate that Granger girl as well."

"Yes my Lord." I followed him outside.

"Bellatrix," he called to her over the gusts of wind. "Severus will finish it. Come." He disapparated.

Bellatrix rose, pout on her lips. "Have fun with him," she told me darkly, and vanished.

I knelt down next to Garland. He was unconscious; I checked his pulse and found it fast and weak. The rain was continually washing away the blood from his skin, leaving his wounds raw and unclotted. In the darkness, it was difficult to decide if he was lying in a pool of mud, water, or his own blood. He was certainly more dead than alive.

What I had told the Dark Lord was true. I did have a potion and I did need to test it, preferably on someone who is already dying. Garland didn't have much time, and the potion was still in my laboratory. I pictured myself walking into Hogwarts, Garland's body floating behind me. _"Nothing to worry about, Poppy. Just going to test a dangerous potion on him now…"_ But there is a better solution to transportation about the castle.

"Bibbits!" I shouted. "BIBBITS!"

Crack! He appeared bowing and mumbling words that were carried away by the wind.

"Listen to me!" I shouted to him, "I want you to transport this man to my laboratory." He should last long enough for me to apparate and the walk in- or I could just have Bibbits "transport me too." Bibbits' ears quivered against the weather, and he took one tiny hand for each of us and grabbed on tight. With a loud BANG! and a very disconcerting sensation, I found myself kneeling on the floor in my laboratory. It had been empty before we arrived. I cast a few protection spells on the area.

"Master is all wet!"

"No, I'm-" well, I suppose I am wet. "Just…" he was grabbing at my cloak. This was not the time. "Just stop _hovering_!"

"I is not hovering." He looked confusedly at his feet, which were firmly planted on the stone floor.

"You _are_…" damn little bugger! "Contradicting me!"

"Bibbits is a bad elf!" he howled.

"OUT!"

I whisked Garland onto the large work bench at the back of my laboratory. He was worse than I thought. I hastened to give him some Blood-Replenishing Potion, but it would only slow his death. I dipped a needle into the few precious drops of Cordial I had created, and dabbed the dark liquid into one of his open wounds. In seconds, the surrounding veins coursed with darkness. I peeled his eyes open and prepared myself to determine the outcome of my experiment.

"_Legilimens_."

White. The light blinded me. Garland was sitting cross-legged, playing with a toddler seated before him. He cooed at her, and the little girl laughed.

"Mr. Garland." He saw me but did not respond. "Mr. Garland, you are dying."

Sadness flickered in his eyes. "I know."

"Did you tell her anything?"

The little girl melted away into the light, and, without rising, Garland was now standing before me. "Snape, isn't it? Death Eater?"

"Yes"

"No, I didn't tell her anything and I won't answer to you either."

It was getting brighter and brighter. He didn't have much time. "Lie to me, Bradley. Give me something I can report. The life of an innocent depends on your answer."

"The Grantlings, a mudblood family- last I heard they were at Sandy Pointe." He cradled his little girl again in his arms. The light was unbearable; colors were bleaching and swimming together. "Now get out of my head before I die."

I withdrew. By the time my eyes adjusted, Garland lay dead before me.


	15. Resistance

They were talking about me. I saw it out of the corner of my eye- Amycus Carrow nodded in my direction as he took his place at the high table next to his sister. Alecto looked up at me, a sinister smirk smearing itself across her features.

I suddenly couldn't taste my food.

"Did you hear what happened at Quidditch practice today? We were in the locker rooms, and that man Yaxley came in with a pack of ministry wizards-"

The Carrows were talking excitedly in low voices, their eyes glinting dangerously at me as I tried to make myself inconspicuous.

"-and said that Dean was going to be 'taken in for questioning.' Something about his mum- she's a Muggle, you know. Dragged him away by the ears! And slapped Ginny across the face when she started asking questions!"

Snape's seat is empty. I haven't seen him in weeks. Maybe he's avoiding me. Maybe he's decided to pretend our last meeting never happened.

"Right from the locker room. Nothing we could do. Merlin knows what's happened to him now."

Maybe Snape has decided not to help me.

"There aren't many mudbloods left. Justin and Collin and Dennis didn't come back this year. It's just you Hermione, and …"

My stomach hurts. Parvarti always makes me feel worse.

Alecto was sitting back, sipping from her goblet and looking off into space. She wore a terrifyingly blissful look, as if she were debating her preferred method of torturing me, turning each over in her mind... Cruciatus? Perhaps a bloodboiling hex…

I had to leave. I stood quickly, and in my rush I bumped the table. The cranberry juice in my goblet sloshed all over my plate. As I disentangled my legs from the bench, I watched the juice seep into my mashed potatoes, turning them a sickening blood-red.

What am I supposed to do if they come for me? Resistance isn't an option, not when the rest of the school is under the thumb of the Carrows. I almost tripped on the threshold between the Great Hall and the entrance hall outside. Perhaps I could go to McGonagall. Maybe she could hide me. If she did she'd be punished, and I can only imagine what they'd do to-

"Hermione."

I nearly jumped out of my skin, automatically reaching for my wand. Then I recognized the voice, the voice I hadn't heard in weeks. His footsteps approached; I turned around.

Snape was glancing around warily, his robes soundlessly billowing as he strode toward me. His eyes came to rest on mine. All of the frustration I had sensed in him at our last meeting was gone. In its place I sensed focus. I could see energy radiate from every purposeful movement of his matte black robes like heat emitted from scorching pavement. Suddenly I wasn't afraid anymore.

"I have a plan." He said quietly, looking at me intently. "Follow my instructions."

I nodded.

"I'm going to order you to the dungeons. And you will resist." He raised an eyebrow, and something about his eyes told me he was suppressing a smirk. "You will resist _theatrically_."

I realized I was grinning. I settled into a scowl, summoned a matching glare, and drew myself up.

"Come with me NOW, Granger," he sneered loudly in his most sarcastic tone. A couple Ravenclaw girls who were just making their way out of the dining hall stopped their chatter at the sight of Snape's dower expression.

"I most certainly will NOT," I shrilled. My voice carries.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Snape thundered, towering over me. The Ravenclaw girls stopped completely, still in front of the great doors opening on the Great Hall. "Do not talk back to your masters, _girl_," he spat.

"I don't care if you kill every half-blood in the school, _Snape_, you will NOT take me without a fight. Someone's got to keep you Death Eaters in check." The chatter emanating from the Great Hall was dying down.

Snape leaned toward me. I felt a tingle run down my spine. "Your wand," he whispered. He had a good point -if we had really been fighting I would have had mine at the ready by now. I noticed he was holding his own wand under his sleeve. I slowly reached for mine.

"Don't bother reaching for it" he drawled at full volume, "you filthy mudblood."

"_Confringo_!" I shouted. Snape blocked the curse.

"YOU DARE TO-"

"_Impedimenta_!" I screamed. I hope he appreciates the drama. These spells would be so much more effective nonverbally. I could hear footfalls approaching from the great hall, shouting, teachers calling for order…

"Put your bloody wand down, girl!" Snape growled. "_Expelliarmus_!" Snape waved his arms slightly more than necessary for maximum billowing. "_Protego_!" I blocked. Students were emerging from the hall, shouting.

"Oh, would you like to surrender, _headmaster_?" I taunted. I pointed to a statue above Snape. "_Reducto_!" It exploded, chunks of stone hurtling through the air toward their target. He disposed of them with a blaze of green flame. Showoff.

There were some DA members with their wands out, but the teachers were trying to calm them and the Carrows were approaching…

"_Levicorpus_!" I made a show of jumping out of the way of the jet of black sparks just in time. Suddenly I felt my arm jerk back, hard, my wand flying from my hand and then arcing back toward Snape. He had nonverbally cast a Revulsion Jinx. Apparently our duel was over. I cradled my arm unnecessarily. "Give me back my wand and fight like a-"

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall came rushing forward, two red splotches on her cheeks. "Headmaster! We give detentions, we do not duel our students! This is outrageous-"

Snape, with a well-practiced murderous expression, shoved Professor McGonagall aside. He bound my wrists with chains that sprang from his wand and grabbed me by the hair. He was careful not to pull too hard, but I shrieked anyway.

"This one won't need detentions where she's going." Snape glowered darkly, dragging me along with him. "Out of my way!"

There was tumult behind us as we descended the stairs. "Not now!" snapped Snape, as the Carrows tried to follow us. "Silence the children. I will summon you later." I could hear them shouting for order as we headed for the dungeons.

Snape kept dragging me along by the arm, and I was confused for a moment, as the hallway seemed deserted. Then I realized that the pictures were watching us. A stern gentleman rose from his armchair and rapped his walking stick on the floor threateningly. I heard scandalized whispers emanating from two old women who shared a large, dark cottage. Contessa Solvay's little collie was running along after us, growling. As we penetrated further into the depths of the castle, the paintings became fewer. Snape loosened his grasp on my arm and his hand fell down to gently finger my elbow.

As we entered his lab he cast a few spell so that we would not be interrupted or overheard. "Very convincing," he said sarcastically, but not unkindly. I think he approved of my performance. He strode toward his preferred work bench at the back of the room, which had been cleared, leaving a wide expanse of cold, ash-grey stone. "Bibbits!" he commanded. Someone was lying on the work bench. I blinked. That hadn't been there before. He was a middle-aged man with a head of graying brown hair. The skin that was visible was bruised and bloodied, and caked with a strange green powder in places. Underneath the grime he looked awfully pale and lay vary still and seemed to be rather… dead?

"I have obtained," Snape said in his perfectly modulated baritone, "a corpse."

Oh. How lovely.

I surveyed his acquisition. "Er…" I began.

"You will recall," Snape lapsed into his lecture tone, "that I said to convincingly fake your death I would require a corpse. Here it is."

Um… "May I just state the obvious and mention that this is not _my_ corpse." This seemed like a key point. Unless there's some way to glamour the corpse into looking like me, or transfigure it, or a use a potion, or... Maybe Snape has some Polyjuice potion on hand. But would it work on corpses? "Could we use polyjuice?"

"_Indeed_," Snape said with emphasis. "After Mr. Garland here died, I treated the body with _Acariosus_, which is a standard embalming ointment used to keep the tissues in a facsimile of life until burial. I believe that polyjuice should still be effective." He pulled a vial of the familiar sludgy grey soup from his robes and uncorked the stopper. "Find a hair…" he blinked. My hair had grown to twice its usual size from all the activity. Yes, yes- it wouldn't be difficult to find a hair. I rolled my eyes at his bemused expression, and slid a strand into the vial. The sludge simmered and seemed to melt into a smooth, thick liquid; the color deepened into a rich chocolate color. Snape moved to open Garland's mouth.

"Wait," I said. This was bothering me. "Did you have to… kill him?"

He paused for a moment before answering. "No," he finally decided. I'm not sure I believe him. He carefully poured some of the potion between the corpse's parted lips. We waited.

I breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Garland's skin started to bubble, and its shape contorted into my own. I cringed internally to see myself so injured. My wrists ached in sympathy. "Good," Snape said, tucking the vial into his chest pocket. "I have enough to maintain his appearance for a few hours- long enough to convince the Carrows of your death. And now it is time for your disappearance."

"Am I leaving the castle?"

"Bibbits! You may show yourself!" An elderly elf appeared at my feet. "Bibbits will explain."

Bibbits reached up and put his wrinkled hand in mine. "Come with me, miss."

Snape was assembling his equipment. "Now, go!" There was a note of urgency in his voice.

The last thing I saw was Snape standing over my bleeding corpse holding a scalpel. Strangely, I've never felt more relieved.


	16. Ligaments

This probably proves that my journey to insanity is complete, but damn it all- I'll admit it to myself. I'm enjoying this. I get fewer opportunities than one might expect to dissect bodies.

It's actually rather fascinating- the way the skin parts so easily with the sharp knife and the way it resists and tenses and tears with the dull one. The way the blood responds to an incision, appearing at the edges of the newly exposed flesh. And ligaments- so damn interesting! They're such an unusual texture. I always examine how they join up with the muscle quite closely. If I had any talent for sketching, ligaments would be on the top of my list of still lifes to render. I actually tried once- sketching. It did not go well.

What would Hermione say, I wonder, if I brought her a picture of her Achilles tendon. I doubt that she would appreciate it as much as I do. She might find it rather… odd. In fact, she might find these circumstances odd in general. I cannot think of another situation in which I would have the opportunity to examine her ligaments.

"Are you saving that one _too_?" Amycus does not share my obsession with ligaments. I have several of them in jars for future inspection. They won't be as nice once they revert back to Garland, but they'll do. You can't expect everyone to have ligaments as fine as Hermione's.

"What's this for?" Alecto was poking some of the skin I had cleaned, stretched, and was leaving out to dry.

"Hesper brew. Don't touch. It's very sensitive for the first few days." On the subject of time, I looked over at the clock. The polyjuice would wear off soon. It is time to send the Carrows off to their master.

I rearranged the flasks, placing a fresh one under the flow draining Garland's blood and moving a full flask to the mock _esse potare_ filtration setup. I corked the tube of cordial I had prepared earlier and gave it to Amycus. "Deliver this immediately. More is on the way as I continue to process the rest of the blood. One drop only."

As Amycus took the vial I could read the surprise on his face. He could sense its power, just as I could. Perhaps he is less incompetent than I thought. He shook his head. "Ironic- how it's the mudblood whose blood is so valuable."

"Indeed." Alecto was still looking over my various freshly harvested ingredients. "Would you care to assist me Alecto? I need to get this rest of the skin off these legs."

She must prefer her prey alive. Alecto crinkled her nose. "Urgh- no. I'll, uh… I have lesson plans…"

"Of course." I busied myself with the legs. Awfully nice skin. Hell- awfully nice legs.

They shut the door behind them.

I finished my ingredient collection quickly, and incinerated the remains before the Polyjuice wore off. Hermione's corpse had made quite the impression during its one essential appearance. The Carrows' report and my fresh ingredients would be quite sufficient to satisfy the Dark Lord.

Now for a visit to my new charge.

* * *

She was curled up on my settee looking rather small beside a towering stack of books.

"I see you've found the library."

She has two little smile lines at the corners of her eyes. I hadn't noticed them before. "I hope it's alright if I take a look. You have a wonderful collection here." She was cradling my aged copy of _Scarlette Charmes_. It was certainly one of the gems of my collection. Normally, I don't allow anyone to touch my books. But Hermione held it just right- she seemed aware of the spine's fraying binding and was holding the loose front pages steady with an extra finger. She carefully closed the tome, her delicate hands caressing the leather cover. "Bibbits was a bit light on specifics when he explained the arrangement to me."

What a scatter-brained elf. "I suppose you've heard the phrase 'safe as the headmaster's ivory tower'?"

"Yes."

"Well there you are."

Her eyebrows drew up in confusion. "The 'ivory tower' refers to the fabled rooms that Hogwarts reserves for its headmaster's use."

"Yes."

"There's an entire chapter in _Hogwarts, a History_ about how they don't exist!"

"We do try to give that impression." I smirked. "There is a stronger bond between Hogwarts and its headmaster than you might expect. Running the school is only one of the jobs of the headmaster. Hogwarts is the most magical castle in Britain and its care comes with additional duties, some of which can be very demanding. Hogwarts gives its headmaster a safe place to rest, in return for their work."

She carefully placed _Scarlette Charmes_ on the top of the pile and stood. "So if this is the ivory tower, then nothing can enter or leave without your permission."

"Right. So you're safe."

"Lovely," she said dismissively. "But can I leave?"

Her gaze was piercing. "No, you can't leave. Not because of the room, but because of practicality." Most students are much easier to intimidate. When standing, she's almost too damn tall to tower over. "If you're seen alive by _anyone_, do you understand? Anyone. Then the Dark Lord will have both our heads." Bloody girl was still glaring at me! I raised my voice. "Don't you scoff at safety, Granger. It's better than any of your other options, and-"

"I know- I know!" She waved her hands at me to stop the flow of my arguments. "I get it. As soon as Vol… the Dark Lord wanted me out of the way I was sentenced to sitting the rest of the war out. I know. And I'm not happy about it, but this is certainly much better than dead, so thank you." She lay a hand on my chest and looked at me with those giant deep brown eyes. "I know what's at stake- your position. And that's maybe the most valuable asset we have in this war. I just don't want to be a prisoner, so you'd better let the ivory tower know I'm free to leave. Trust my judgment, alright? And _don't-_" she shoved my chest ever so lightly for emphasis, "call me Granger."

She turned with a flurry of chestnut curls, grabbed _Scarlette Charmes_, and resumed her seat, as if nothing had happened. Yet a delicate flush of rose in her cheeks hinted otherwise.

"Well don't call me Snape," I shot back, glaring at her. Merlin, what a terrible comeback.

She glanced up, took one look at my expression, and started to laugh.

I stood in stunned silence, before I too began to chuckle. I sat down next to her on the settee. She has a beautiful laugh.

She set _Scarlette Charmes_ aside and turned toward me, smiling. "What else have Headmasters used his room for?"

"Oh… hobbies of various kinds. It's rather hard to say, as the contents of the room don't stay for the next headmaster to inspect. I think Professor Dumbledore kept orchids in here."

"Orchids!"

"It seems that he was exercising a repressed green thumb by turning his rooms into a conservatory. When he died, every surface of the Headmaster's Office was covered with a potted orchid. It took ages for Professor Sprout to find 'good homes' for all of them. She took a long time just to irritate me. There's nothing like trying to intimidate a fellow Death Eater with beautiful flowers everywhere."

She laughed again. "Just regular, non-magical orchids?"

"Just regular."

"Professor Dumbledore was a rather extraordinary man."

"Yes he was."

I wondered for a moment if she was going to ask about his death. She didn't.

"What else?"

"From the portraits, I gather there have been few cooking enthusiasts, painters, collectors of various kinds. And, of course, some headmasters use the ivory tower for hiding things and people. Disfigured children, mad wives, mistresses…"

I tried to think of other hints I'd heard from the portraits in the Headmaster's Office, and came up blank. Hermione wasn't saying anything, and there was a rather tense silence building up. I realized what I had just said. Perhaps that was not the best item to end on.

"Mistresses, huh?" She said finally.

I tried very hard to think of something to say.

I should definitely be professional about this. Unfortunately, we're sitting together on a settee. Damn. Nothing can be very professional when you're sitting on a settee. Yet it would be even more awkward to move away. Shit. Nothing for it but to be as professional as possible _on the settee_. I cleared my throat. "You're not a mistress."

"I know; you're not married."

Her cheeks went from blushing delicately to burning crimson. She sat completely still and though there was no chance of meeting her eyes, I know for sure that all she wanted was to be swallowed up by a hole in the floor. Of course, I told myself, what she meant was "in order for you to have a mistress, you need to be married," or "I wouldn't be your mistress if anything was going on, which it isn't, because you're not married," or…

But who am I trying to fool? Perhaps my life as a spy has made deception so natural that I'm lying to myself. I care for Hermione. Obviously. She's seen through my disguise. I've laughed with her. I've protected her from far greater danger than Dumbledore could have foreseen.

I put her in an impossible situation: stuck in a room making small talk with me. I am not an easy person to get along with. Something was bound to happen. And now she will probably never speak to me again.

Damn my luck with women!

Perhaps there is a way to repair the situation.

I stood. She stared furiously at my boots. "Ivory tower or no ivory tower, Miss Granger, you are, essentially, trapped in this room until the end of the war. I made the decision to put you here because it was the only good option. However, I suppose it would have been considerate to consult you about it first. I apologize-" I hate apologizing "-for not doing so. If there is something that will make this more tolerable for you, then you should ask Bibbits. You can also ask me. I can be here as little as you like. Which includes not at all. If you would prefer."

The color was draining rapidly from her face, and she looked almost on the verge of tears. "But Hermione," I continued, "I would very much like to visit. A safe haven means the world to a spy. I consider mine infinitely improved when you…" she looked up at me with glistening eyes, "are sitting right here."

She stood, put both hands on my shoulders, and kissed me.


	17. Shadows

The rooms were dark when I entered. Hermione must already be asleep.

Damn this endless war. I'd spent half the day aparating all across England because Potter and Wesley managed to get themselves caught and delivered to the Malfoy Manor. Idiots. And then-just to make my day even worse- they immediately got away. Lucius was furious, but in comparison to Bellatrix he seemed merely irritated. I've never seen her in such a state, and an insane woman in a mad rage is something I hope I never see again.

I stood in the darkened room and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it might lessen the headache that was creeping up from the base of my skull. My arm twinged. The Dark Lord had been increasingly agitated recently. The war is reaching its crisis. Things will happen soon now; it's on everyone's minds. I massaged the Dark Mark as it seared into my flesh.

There was a nagging sensation at the back of my mind. Again. I've been noticing it recently every time I come to visit Hermione. At first I assumed it was my sense of self-preservation reminding me that emotions are a weakness, and weakness can be exploited. But I'm now convinced that it is something different; a palpable thought that distracts me, overpowers me at times, in its effort to assert itself into my mind.

There is something important that I _must_ think about. Something that I've forgotten.

"_Lumos_."

I made my way over to the tiny workbench I had set up in the corner. I had continued to clean Hermione's blood, a little every day, and now she was as free as possible from the cordial. The last few vials of the liquid sat on the desk, looking at me.

I sat down heavily before them. I was tired from the day's travel, my headache had developed into a full-bodied pounding in my ears, and the Dark Lord was unpredictably sending spasms of pain through my arm. But worse than all of that was the intrusion of that incomprehensible thought into my mind. I tried to clear my mind and send it away. It would not go.

I eyed the vials of cordial. One drop- that was all it would take to send me into my liminal space and root out the cause of this tug on my mind.

I picked up a vial and uncorked it. My fingers tingled. I put a drop of the cordial on the tip of a needle and returned the vial.

The needle hovered over my skin.

This is probably very foolish.

I pricked myself, and my vision dissolved into darkness.

* * *

I couldn't seem to stand up straight. I tried to steady myself, but I couldn't discern what I was standing on. I seemed to be falling forward no matter how I stood.

From a point at the farthest corner of my universe, there came light. And from an opposite point, there came dark. They did not seem so different- perhaps because I could not put them side by side, and compare them. They blended together in a continuum of greys across the infinite expanse that separated the two.

I tried walking toward the light, but it never got any closer. I tried walking toward the dark. It was just as far away.

I still could not stand upright. I couldn't even recall why I was here.

"Because of me," said Lilly. She stood before me in full, vibrant color. There was something odd about her appearance, something I couldn't put my finger on.

Ah. That's where my memories are. I see them now.

"Why are you here?

"I'm not. Not really."

Of course. Lilly is dead.

"Why do you care anyway, that I'm dead, Severus?" Her voice was strong and cruel; it cut me. "You as good as killed me, remember?"

"I remember," I said. I wish I didn't remember. Hell. I try never to think of it. I've gone to great lengths to forget; potions, spells, rituals. With Potter and his damn eyes out of sight it's held, for some time. But it seems that I must remember now. I must remember Lilly.

She circled me. "I always warned you about dabbling with the dark arts. Look where it got you! You and your fascination with evil, Severus. I hate it."

Her green eyes glinted with anger. I realized what was wrong with her appearance: it was too symmetrical. There was no shadow on her face from the light and the dark. Her hair was exactly the same on both sides- a persistent, unnatural shade of red.

"You told me you loved me, Severus, and for that I'm sorry. I'll tell you again what I told you before. I couldn't live with your darkness; I couldn't stand it. I'm sorry, but… I didn't want you, Severus."

I looked down at my feet. I cast a shadow, it seems. Lilly does not. She obeys an immutable color scheme of her own, one of brilliant red and daring green.

"Lilly," I said, "do you see my shadow?"

Her eyes fluttered downward, confused. "Shadow? There aren't any shadows."

Much to my surprise, I fell forward, right though where Lilly had been but a moment before, and hit the ground, hard. I felt an intense sense of relief wash over me, as if a fist clenching my heart had given up its hold.

I knew Lilly was right. I was an accomplice in her murder, and I was rather surprised she didn't haunt me, to make sure I knew that I was to blame, and that she didn't forgive me. For all of those years, it had tortured me to know what I had done to her, and it had tormented me to know that I did not deserve forgiveness.

But I understand something now that had escaped me before. Lilly could not have forgiven me even if she wanted to. She couldn't understand that I straddle the line between good and evil, serving as the crucial go-between so that the right side prevails. Evil frightened her enough that she needed someone like Potter, perfect hero Potter, to complete her perfect little world of black and white, red and green. Her world with no shadows, because shadows are the greys she cannot distinguish.

I stood, now completely steady. Hermione understands. Hell, she even forgives. She has absolved me of my sins like a damn little priestess. In her I have found a better woman.

I looked above me at all the vast array of shades of grey above me, and smiled. If I were to move toward the light or in the dark I would lose sight of this wonderful spectrum. Sufficient reason to stay in the middle.

I pulled my mind back into my body and walked, silently, to the bedroom. Hermione was asleep, her curls energetically exploring the pillow. I planted a kiss on her forehead. She didn't wake, but pulled the blankets closer and smiled contentedly.

She casts a shadow, I realized.


	18. A Nightmare

**A/N:** As some of you know, I 'completed' this story in September 2011. School was starting, I had work to do, and I wanted it to be finished. But as a lot of you pointed out (quite correctly), I didn't give this story the ending it deserved. It'd been nagging me ever since I said I was 'done,' and I've decided to go back and finish this story off right.

I've made some tweaks throughout, but the big changes are in Chapter 18 to the end. Originally I killed off Severus rather abruptly, and I'm very much considering changing to a happier ending. If you have a strong opinion, let me know. Regardless how the ending turns out, I hope you find this conclusion satisfying. Thank you so much for reading. It's really a wonderful thing for me to be able to share this story.

* * *

I pushed my hair behind my ears. It puffed out around my neck and seemed woefully constricted at the forehead, giving my head a very odd triangular appearance. I swept it all up in the back and twisted it into a bun, but then it looked far too severe. I started to try a braid, but I couldn't even part it into three equal sections. I'm absolutely useless at doing things behind my back. I sighed and looked at the time. Severus will be here any minute.

I glared at the mop of hair in the mirror. It did not magically become any less bushy.

"Is Miss displeased?" Bibbit's long nose was poking around the doorframe.

"_Miss_ has far too much hair." I made a mental note to resist the temptation to speak in third person once Severus arrived. It's oddly contagious when you talk to a house elf all day.

Bibbits drew up a chair twice his size and perched on it, inspecting the issue from all angles. "I is knowing just the thing!"

"Wait- no! Don't fix it!" I can only imagine what Severus would say if I suddenly had perfect, wavy locks. Bibbits raised his eyebrows. "It can't look noticeably _different_… it just needs to look, er, _better_."

Bibbits nodded solemnly. "Bibbits knows!" He reached for my hair again. I opened my mouth to protest. "I is putting it straight back to the way it is if Miss does not like."

"Isn't there something for you to do… about, er, dinner?"

"Is all done."

"Um…" I leaned over to peer at the table. It was, indeed, complete; set very simply, with the addition of a few candles. I looked back at my hair in the mirror. "Oh, alright."

Bibbits nodded, and set to work with a very serious expression. I fidgeted. He didn't seem to be doing much, just moving the bundles of hair around. I looked back at the clock. Severus should already be here…

Bibbits picked a few locks from both of my temples and secured them in the back. "There." He stepped down from the chair.

I inspected my hair, a critical remark at the ready. But it actually looked rather… better. It was still huge, but somehow the shape was different. It looked more curly and less frizzy, and when I moved my head around it didn't lose its shape. It was now rather wild and luxurious. "Huh…" I said, intelligently.

I hear the door open in the other room. With a final nervous pat for my hair, I went to greet Severus. He lay his cloak over the back of the settee with mechanical precision that I've learned is his only sign of stress.

"How was your day?"

"Terrible, as usual," He said gruffly. He took a long draught from his goblet as he sat down. "But let's not talk about it. Bibbits, what's for dinner?"

Bibbits magicked the salad plates to the table. "There is first a salad with pear slices, walnuts, and vinaigrette dressing."

The elf watched us carefully as we tasted the salad. "Bibbits made it for us specially." I raised an eyebrow at Severus pointedly.

"Ah. It's excellent."

Bibbits' expectant ears relaxed and he turned to me. "This is wonderful Bibbits, thank you for thinking of it."

Bibbits made a small bow. "I will be back to deliver the next course."

Between bites, I caught his eyes traveling over my hair.

"We should do this more often," he said.

"Bibbits would certainly enjoy that," I said. "He's been planning the menu all week. You have no idea how many different French sauces that elf knows about."

"You're awfully nice to him. I can think of some masters Bibbits would certainly not enjoy preparing dinner for."

"Like the Malfoys?" House elf haters number one in my book.

He smirked in surprise. "That's actually exactly who I was thinking of."

Severus sat back with his goblet and looked at me thoughtfully; his eyes lingered on my hair, tracing the curls. He looked slightly puzzled; as if he could tell something was different but couldn't put his finger on it. Bibbits did a good job.

He stood and snuffed the candles on the mantle. He looked so much taller without his cloak; his broad shoulders perched atop his long legs. He took my hand and pulled me to my feet, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"And what would my friend of the house elves say if we delayed the rest of Bibbit's magnificent dinner?"

He had one hand on the small of my back to pull me into an embrace and the other caressing my hair. I felt a thrill run down my spine. Any hope of an intelligent response was crushed as he planted kisses on my temple and slowly massaged the sensitive skin of my throat.

"Alright." I finally managed.

I ran my hands over his chest and shoulders, feeling the bulk beneath. So this is what it is like to be in a man's arms. I breathed. I love how he smells. I love how warm his touch is in this frosty room.

I traced his jaw with a finger and we kissed; his lips were soft and warm and smooth and yet they made me tingle with anticipation.

His hands reached my hips and stopped. Then his fingers slipped under my jumper and slowly made their way upward.

In unspoken agreement, we made our way toward the bedroom.

* * *

_Minerva adjusted her spectacles and the sunlight glinted off the lenses. Her hair must once have been chestnut. You can still see the remnants of it in this light. _

_She offers me a scone. I'll have a scone._

_The lake is beautiful this time of year, the water lazily shimmering in the warm summer breeze. I must remember to collect some fresh clover when we've finished our lunch. It will make for some lovely Contentment Concoction, I tell Minerva. She agrees with me._

_She wants to know about the students' exposure to fresh ingredients that exist only in the summer. It's a point I've spent a long time thinking on myself. I butter my scone and take a bite before responding._

_Mmm. Apricot. I wasn't expecting that._

_There are lots of time-sensitive ingredients that students have no access to, I explain. My, and the butter goes so perfectly with this scone. Just like the breeze and the shimmer and the lake._

_She seizes my arm. What? She is angry, and looks even more severe without her spectacles! I never knew she had such a strong grip. Merlin, woman, get off!_

_She is trying to control her temper, the two familiar red splotches appearing in her cheeks. Why did you let the Carrows come? How can you allow this to happen to our students! I'm on your side, Minerva; I'm trying to tell her. The students, she tells me, _

"Severus!"

_The scones are gone. I can't get her off my arm. I'm just trying to help, can't you see that? Her fingers are digging into my flesh like claws; I can feel her nails, her gaze piercing my mind._

"_How could you do it, Snape? I trusted you." I remember her voice in all its silent fury. "Dumbledore trusted you. And you were never on our side, were you."_

_No, Minerva-_

"_We were fools, utter fools, to believe your lies. And all those times I thought you cared." Blood trickles down my arm. The pain is unbearable. Stop!_

"_I will not be taken in again, not me. I will not-"_

"Severus!"

Hermione shook my shoulder and I opened my eyes, falling roughly away from Minerva's piercing grasp and into the throbbing pain of the Dark Mark pulsating on my arm. I sat bolt upright and my head collided with hers in a thump that left my head ringing like church bells.

"Sorry, you alright?" Cool fingers brushed the hair away from my temple.

"I'm bloody obviously not alright," I growled, shoving her away and scrambling out of bed. It'd cold, especially the stone under my bare feet. I try to focus on it rather than on the bump on my forehead, the Dark Lord's anger tearing at my arm, or the beautiful, naked woman sitting on my bed.


	19. Shattered Teacup

I was reading when he came in. I hadn't been expecting him. He entered and shut the door in one swift movement, then stood absolutely still, his hand still on the knob, his eyes staring unfocused at the new carpet. Was he listening for someone? Were they following him? I couldn't hear anything. I uncurled myself from the settee and thrust my book onto the end table. The sound of shattering china made us both start. The book had pushed my cup of tea onto the floor.

"Allow me."

"No, I'll just- sorry, I-"

I cleaned the spill, but the carpet had already mopped up some of the tea from the stone blow, and the dark stain seemed determined to stay. I repaired the teacup. I held it carefully in the palm of my hand. The delicate pink roses seemed less cheerful than before. Severus might have been staring at it, but a curtain of black locks covered his face.

"Something wrong?"

"No."

It was the most unconvincing 'no' I have ever heard.

I wanted very much to reach up and tuck the hair behind his ear, to put a comforting hand on his arm, to hold his hand in mine and comfort him. But Severus seemed to be very far away.

He started pacing. He paced around and around the edge of the room, avoiding the deep carpet I'd had Bibbits put in the middle. His heels clicked on the stone floor.

_Pop!_ I nearly dropped the teacup in surprise.

"Master, they is wanting you." Bibbits looked agitated. More so than usual.

"Who?"

Before Bibbits could answer, Severus grabbed his arm, his face contorting. "I'm sorry Hermione, but I have to go." There was urgency in his voice. It scared me.

"What is it?"

"Never mind."

"No!" I stood between him and the door. "You tell me what's going on!"

For a moment I think he considered shoving me out of the way. Then his deep black eyes found mine, and he cradled my face in his hands. "Hermione," he whispered. He kissed me with an intensity that took my breath away, and then ran a finger along my cheek with such tenderness that I felt the tears come to my eyes.

"This is the end, isn't it," I said.

His jaw hardened. "I hope so."

He put a final, comforting hand on my shoulder. Then he left.

* * *

There were so many defenses to raise and so little time. I ran along the west wing of the castle, and up the stairs toward the southwest tower. I hissed a password at an agitated nymph pacing to and fro in her frame; her painting swung forward to admit me. I ran up the spiral stairs two at a time, a the twinge of an old hex wound pulsating in my left knee and my breath growing heavy as the stairs grew narrow.

The stairs ended with a tiny door. As I stepped on the final stair, the creaky stair, I realized my mistake; a sliver of light along the bottom of the door winked out. Someone had beaten me to my destination, and now they were hiding. Bloody hell. There are always people underfoot in this damn castle.

I lit my wand and opened the door. I couldn't see who it was, but I sensed where they were. They had moved just behind the door, waiting for my entry. I looked around as if searching for them, a shield charm in the tip of my tongue. I fingered my wand.

I heard the crackle of a stunner. "_Protego!_" I yelled. In a shower of sparks, the stun ricocheted off my shield and slammed into the stone above with a resounding crack. I turned to face my attacker. Minerva McGonagall's eyes shone brightly in the light from the stairs, standing in a stiff dueling posture. She shuffled to her left, her wand continually trained on my heart, to stand between me and the Gauntlet of Hildore, the object I would use to call the statues to life, to fight and protect Hogwarts.

"Oh stand aside, woman, before I kill you," I said, not in the least expecting her to obey.

"I will not let you turn this castle's guardians against their true purpose." Her lips trembled with fury, but her wand hand was steady. So I would need to fight her before I could get on with the preparations... damn it all to hell! I cleared my mind and looked her squarely in the eyes, seeing the hex form in her mind before it exploded out the tip of her wand in a jet of fiery embers, missing my shoulder by inches as I dived and rolled to the left.

We traded blows, spells flying through the tiny room with furious intensity. Minerva might not be a legilimens, but her arsenal was large and her aim impeccable. The air was thick with smoke and tingled with the crackle of magical energy. Sweat beaded on my brow from concentration and exertion.

I shouted a stun at her torso and blocked an incoming curse. Guessing which way she would dodge, I added a nonverbal, _Expelliarmus!_

A wand flew toward my head and I snatched it out of the air reflexively and turned on its owner. Instead of any gesture of surrender, she walked right up to me. I took a step back, holding her at wandpoint.

"You, Severus. How could you? How could you be such a traitor?" She spit the words at me. They cut more keenly than any of the physical wounds she had inflicted. The dream from the previous night swam before my eyes, and twin Minervas put voice to their frustration. She lifted her old, angry eyes up to mine, but I looked away. I knew she hated me.

Why can't I tell her? Just this one person. Hell- only a few words and all would be explained. I could take back this old friend of mine.

But of course I bloody well couldn't tell her. Not at the last hour. Not at this final, critical moment. I would raise my wand against this friend one last time so that Goddamn Perfect Potter could have another go at the Dark Lord.

I scowled and backed away from her so the stun wouldn't be from point-blank range. "_Stupefy_," I whispered, bitterly. She crumpled to the floor; her head hit the stone with a hard clunk. I paused for a moment to compose myself, looking away from her body lest the urge to check her head overcame me.

Besides even if she had tried, I reasoned, she would not have been able to summon the statues to life; I had installed some new safeguards recently with the Carrows around. Perhaps, I could frame things to look like she had awoken them anyway. I sent a very light 'obliviate' toward her. Hopefully enough for her to forget that she had seen me, and no more.

I snatched up the gauntlet and slipped it onto my left hand, tightening the metal clips around my wrist as I fled down the spiral staircase. At the foot of the stair I turned to the statue of a griffin, raising its left paw toward an imaginary commander. As I seized the griffin's paw with the gauntlet and the cold stone sprang to life. The griffin ruffled its wings and flicked its tail, arching its back to stretch out its stone muscles that had lay stiff for too long.

"Griffin!" I snapped, drawing the beast's attention. "Rally your army. For tonight you fight for Hogwarts!"

The beast let forth a shriek of understanding, and then leaped into the air, calling the statues awake with its cries.

* * *

**A/N**: I've written the ending! There will be a total of 23 chapters, and I do believe you'll really like the rest of them. I'll post one every other day as I get the last of the little typos out.

Thanks to everyone who's read, and thanks to everyone who's reviewed!


	20. The Griffin and the Snake

The attacks began, and I could feel the castle shake.

I gingerly sat down on the settee. Dread settled into the pit of my stomach. A weight pressed on my heart until I could hear it beat in my ears with agonizing clarity. Severus was in trouble. If not now, soon. It was irrational- was it fear?- but I knew it with absolute certainty. I needed to do something, or I would never see him again.

I would join the battle, I decided. I could feel adrenaline rushing through my body, but I forced myself to sit still and think. If Hermione Granger showed up it would be of absolutely no help to Severus. I needed a disguise- a good one.

I went to the mirror and began alterations. "It's always easier," I remember Moody saying, "to disguise yourself looking worse than usual, rather than better." I knotted my hair into a bun and changed the color to black, streaked with grey. I hid my figure beneath layers of ill-fitting tatty robes. I glamoured some wrinkles onto my face, and enlarged the circles under my eyes. I lightened my eyes to a feeble grey. I checked myself over critically. There was still something familiar about the set of my features, but unless you were looking for Hermione I would pass as an aging witch.

I walked toward the door, but stopped and returned to the mirror, checking again to make sure I was unrecognizable. A remembrance of our last kiss tingled on my lips and I shivered, wishing that Severus was here with me, safe. The castle shuttered, and I ran to the door. It was unlocked. I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me; it melted into the wall the moment my fingers left the doorknob. There was no going back.

I ran.

The hallways were deserted- even the statues were gone- as I made my way toward the center of Hogwarts. After catching sight of a cloaked figure turning a corner far ahead of me, I slowed my pace and muffled my footsteps. I stole down a corridor toward the central stairways when I heard voices coming toward me. Nowhere to hide… I flattened myself against the wall.

"-and McGonagall nearly saw me. Filthy half-blood." Amycus Carrow's voice floated down the hall.

"We'll just need to do without the statues then." Alecto snapped. "Now where's this bloody room."

Their footsteps were getting closer. They were going to pass through this corridor. With a reckless jolt of excitement, I realized there was nowhere for me to run. I would fight them. There were a few seconds yet…

_Filio impendimentum!_ A tripwire materialized across the hallway. I noted the location of a heavy chandelier above my head. I disillusioned myself just as they came into view. Alecto's face was pinched into a scowl, which changed to surprise as she tripped and fell forward.

"_Expelliarmus_! _Stupefy_!" I cried, and then ran toward the other side of the hall, chasing Amycus' wand. The stun hit Alecto squarely, and she did not rise from where she had tripped.

"_Confringo_!"

The jet of flame cackled through the air an inch from my fingers as I reached for Amycus' wand. I could feel its heat. Amycus must have gotten hold of his sister's wand. "_Ennervate_," he said.

I turned to face my opponent in time to counter a nonverbal hex. He had finally guessed my location correctly, and now that the spell bounced off my shield he knew exactly where I was.

Amycus and I traded blows as Alecto recovered. As I was dodging a curse Amycus' wand flew toward him. He dropped his sister's wand and caught his own. During the fraction of a second where he was wandless, I managed to singe his leg, but he merely continued with a slight limp, and I could tell his spells were slightly stronger. Alecto crawled toward her wand and sent a stunner whizzing past my ear as soon as it was in her hand.

Now that there were two of them I was on the defensive; it was all I could do to dodge and shield the onslaught of spells. I edged backward, hoping to lure them under the chandelier, but there was still some distance to cover.

A drop of sweat ran down my temple and into the wrinkles around my eyes. Perhaps it had been a poor choice to engage two death eaters by myself. I'll remember that for next time.

Just a few more feet…

Suddenly there was movement behind the Carrows. I focused on the spells accosting me, but they stopped suddenly as a giant, living stone griffin nipped at Amycus' belly with its razor-sharp beak and screeched a battle cry. They both stepped back- right under the chandelier.

I pointed carefully. "_Reducto_."

The griffin seemed to realize my plan, and stepped back just in time for the Carrows to be caught by the falling mass of glass, metal, and fire. I watched Amycus' head bounce off the ground, hard. For good measure I stunned Alecto. This time, neither of them moved. The thought that perhaps I'd killed Amycus flitted across my mind, but I dismissed it. The chandelier wasn't that heavy. Right?

The last of the sparks cleared and griffin came to me, pawing the ground with agitation. I took a moment to steady my breathing and remove the last of the failing disillusionment. "Are you alright?" I asked. It didn't seem injured, although I'm not sure how injuries would look on a living statue. It lay down on its front paws, putting its torso to the ground. It opened its beak and cawed at me, and ruffled its wings. Was it trying to tell me something? I could hear sounds of battle echoing off the arches of the castle. There was work to be done.

"If you're not injured," I told it, "I'll be going now."

I made toward the battle, but it snorted and leapt in front of me. Again it leaned down on its front paws, lowering its back. Did it… "Do you want me to ride you?" It cawed again, in what I think was a statement of assent.

I approached it, warily. It quieted. Even kneeling, the griffin was a huge animal, and I clambered onto its back rather ungracefully. It was warm, but still felt like stone; I marveled at its moving hide. Then the great stone muscles in its hind legs tensed and the griffin ran and leapt into the air above the staircases, its massive wings unfurling and carrying us toward the entrance of the castle. My stomach rolled and I gritted my teeth against the feeling of nausea. I buried my hands in the stone feathers on its neck, holding on with all my might.

I could see the light from the battle in the entrance hall before we rounded the last corner. I held on with my knees while drawing my wand, ready to shield myself if anyone bothered to look up. We rounded the corner and I gasped as I looked down. There were bodies. I shielded the griffin from a stray curse, but we soared out into the night in seconds. We gained height and I was no longer afraid of someone hexing us from below.

The cold wind stung my eyes as the griffin flew, but I peered down, just for a second, to get my bearings. We were flying toward Hogsmeade, level with the highest towers of Hogwarts. Where is this griffin taking me? I shivered. Impulsively I touched my face and was relieved to find that the wrinkles hadn't faded.

The griffin went into a dive and my heart leapt into my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut and clung to the griffin's back. It leveled off, and we slowed. It landed at last, and folded its wings. I slipped off its back unsteadily, grateful to feel the ground under my feet again, and I looked around. We were at the Shrieking Shack.

It jerked its head toward the building and clacked its beak quietly. "Alright," I whispered, stroking its head. I cast disillusionment again and made my way toward the ramshackle building.

I could hear voices coming from inside and sidled up to a broken window. I could see Nagini slithering in her cage. I shiver ran down my spine as I heard Voldemort's voice.

"You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen…"

"My Lord-"

I craned my neck to see where Severus' voice was coming from and leaned in to the window. He was to my right, standing near the wall. I stifled a gasp at his face; it was completely white. He was stricken. As I leaned toward him a board groaned under my weight, and I pulled back. Nagini's head twisted directly toward me, and her tongue flicked in and out. My mouth went dry. Could she see me? I stood perfectly still. Nagini looked away and I could breath again.

"-must master the wand, Severus." Voldemort was saying, "master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

Voldemort swiped his wand through the air, and Nagini's cage flew toward Severus. I raised my wand to do something, anything- but it was too late. Nagini's fangs sunk into his neck.

No. No this is not happening, oh God please…

All I could see was Severus, his face colorless, gasping for breath as blood spurted out of his neck. I scrambled through the window as fast as I could and ran to him. The cage was gone and I covered the gaping holes in his neck with my hands, trying to put the precious blood back into his body. "Severus?" I whispered. "Severus!"

"Who's there?" a voice behind me said. Severus' eyes wandered through me.

I felt the disillusionment being removed. "Who are you?" A voice said. It sounded familiar.

"_Vulnera sanentur_!" The wound closed for a moment and then reappeared. I put my shaking hands back over the wound. Of course; Mr. Weasley had been bitten by Nagini; her venom causes wounds to resist healing. I suddenly knew what to do.

"Bibbits!" I yelled as loud as I could, "BIBBITS!"

"Her… Hermione?"

My eyes fixed on a tall, gawky man with bright red hair. I know this person! "Ron," I said vaguely.

"Hermione! I thought you were dead!"

"Bibbits!" Severus was struggling to keep his eyes open. Come on, "Severus, stay with me!"

Crack!

"I is sorry mistress, I-"

"Never mind that now; take us to Severus' laboratory."

"Hermione, _what_ is going on?"

"Yes mistress!"

As Bibbits rushed toward us, I looked up and noticed Harry! "Oh it's Harry. I need to heal Severus. Why don't you go kill that awful snake?"

As Bibbits jolted us sideways out of the room, I thought I heard the words echoing behind us, "_Severus_? Blimey…"


	21. Filtration

The cold dungeon floor appeared beneath my feet, and I tried to calm the disorientation that threatened to make me sick. I looked down at Severus, still cradled in my arms, and for a second my heart stopped at the sight of his glassy eyes. And then the moment passed, and I recognized that he was fighting the same feeling of nausea that Bibbits' apparation had caused.

"Severus, stay with me. I'm here; don't give up," I ordered him. "Get him on the table, hold the wound." Bibbits jumped into action. As soon as his spindly hands were wrapped around the wound I ran to the storage closet.

The antidote to Nagini's venom was difficult to make and composed of ingredients Severus wouldn't keep on hand. But there are other ways of extracting venom from blood… Ah. I spotted the _esse potare_ setup on a high shelf and levitated it to rest on the table where Severus lay. I put a needle into his arm to withdraw blood for filtering. Pure blood and pure venom began trickling, drop by drop, into vials. I added another needle, just above the wound, to wash the gashes with his own freshly filtered blood. I started casting "_vulnera sanentur" _every few seconds to keep him from bleeding out, and I waited, watching his face anxiously.

"Do you know any good healing spells, Bibbits?" I asked between casts.

The old elf seemed steadier under pressure than I expected. "I can keep it closed mistress," he said, a determined tilt to his ears.

I watched the elf's fingers glow and seal the wound a few times before I dashed to the supply room for a blood-replenishing potion. "Severus," I said, pushing strands of hair away from his face, "you need to drink this potion." His eyes were closed now, but I could hear him breathing ragged, labored breaths, and his eyes moved under their pale lids at my voice. I opened his mouth and poured some potion in. He swallowed some and convulsed, the tendons in his neck straining, the skin covering them slick with blood. I held his hand until he calmed, and then fed him more, little by little.

His cuts were re-opening more slowly now, but despite our efforts, his skin seemed to have taken on a grey tinge. Bibbits noticed it too, and cast a worried look my way with his enormous eyes. Perhaps it was just the contrast of his pale skin with the vast amount of blood covering the three of us. I cleaned up a bit, but the result was the same; he did not look better.

"Severus?" I asked him, shaking his shoulder. He didn't respond. His eyes didn't move. He was breathing, but his breaths were shallow, and something about his face seemed to slacken.

My vision blurred with tears and a lump rose in my throat.

"I'll take over Bibbits."

I pulled up a stool and sat beside him, healing his wound every few minutes as it re-opened. As the drops of venom in the _esse potare_ vial slowed and finally stopped, I began to cry. The venom was gone, his blood was pure, but I couldn't wake him up.

I don't know how long I sat there before I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Hermione?"

I think it was Harry.

"Hermione, you need to come away now. He's dead."

"He's not dead." I told him stubbornly. "He's breathing."

They left me alone for a while. Severus' wound had stopped re-opening altogether.

Then there was a warm, matronly voice. "Potter's going to try and dig him out of there for you. Alright, sweetheart?"

My attention snapped to Madame Pomfrey's face and then to Harry's. "Oh please, Harry, try."

He gave me a hard look and agreed. I grimaced and pried Severus' eyes opened. Harry took my stool and looked deep into Snape's eyes.

* * *

I'm sitting on a settee.

It's the only thing around. I could stand, I suppose.

Off to my left there's a fairly decent grey color, and to my right it's bright, blinding white.

I stand. My boots make a satisfying clicking noise on the pavement. I walk around a bit and come and sit back down on the settee. This is nice.

I'm not sure, but is it brighter than it was a moment ago? I squint toward the grey and wait a moment. Yes, yes it's definitely brighter. I frown at the brightness. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

Off in the distance to my left, I notice there's another settee- just like this one. I could go sit over there, where the light wouldn't bother me. Seems rather far away though… and it's so nice here.

"Hey Snape."

I look up and it's- "Potter. What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, _sir_," he scowled, fixing those irritating green eyes on me.

"This is completely unacceptable, Potter," I hiss, pacing around him. "Get. Out. Of my liminal space. Now." I threaten in his ear.

"Oh fine, just die then if you like, see if I care," he said, "I only bothered to come because… oh let's see," he started ticking off points on his fingers, "apparently you were against the Dark Lord the whole time, and without your help he wouldn't be dead, and you did all sorts of things to help protect the Hogwarts' students, and Dumbledore had arranged his death with you before-hand so you weren't actually to blame, and," he looked at the sky, "it seems like maybe you don't have much time left…" the grey was almost gone. "And then there was the bit about Hermione asking me to fetch you…"

Hermione. I suddenly remembered why the brightness bothered me.

"…but if you'd rather die, I'd understand… you know…"

The settee toward the grey was almost a speck on the horizon. I gave Potter a withering look before running toward it.

Potter jogged along beside me. "You know where you need to go, don't you?"

"Until the light comes from above, as it should." I said. "Now get OUT, Potter!" I shrieked in exasperation.

Potter, the bloody idiot, _grinned_, of all things, and the next time I looked for him he was gone.

I passed settee after settee, each identical, each less painfully bright than the last. At last I could see black before me and the light lifting up off the horizon and toward the sky. When I judged it had reached its zenith, I looked down, and there was a settee, waiting for me.

I smiled. Laying down on its soft cushions, I closed my eyes.

* * *

Harry sat, unmoving, staring into Severus' deathly face for what seemed like hours. I stood, shivering from cold and anxiety, rooted to the spot.

Then Harry's body suddenly relaxed. He stood up from the stool and breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't worry, Hermione," he said, as comforting hand on my shoulder, "he'll be fine…" Harry walked away, "the git," he muttered under his breath.

I peered into Severus' face. He was cold to the touch, but I thought perhaps he was warmer than last I checked. And his skin, was it less ashen? I waited, and the color and warmth slowly returned to him. His breathing was deeper and less labored, and I imagined a smile touched his lips. He was sleeping.

I watched him for a moment. We breathed together.

"Severus?" I said, shaking his wrist. He opened his eyes.

* * *

**A/N:** I didn't kill him this time! You're welcome.


	22. Pillows

They gave me a sleeping draught, and the next thing I know, I woke up in the _hospital wing_.

The ceiling tiles are quite as bad as the carpet, and the smell is awful. It's even cleaner and more medicinal than usual, probably because the place is full of injured students.

And the damn pillows! Utterly useless. So absurdly fluffy you put your head down in the middle and all the volume of the pillow moves to the sides, not supporting your head in the slightest. Apparently it's not good for my health to just do without the useless things because when I tossed mine away Poppy came over straight away to fuss, stuff the pillow right back under my protesting head, and force-feed me another blood-replenishing potion that was made with entirely too many frog hearts.

"Trying to poison me, are you Poppy?" I spat, choking on the unexpected grit.

"Well excuse me for not making that foul potion to your liking. Now drink up." She set another whole goblet down on the table beside me.

"I'm quite well enough to recover in my own rooms, where I have a whole stock of this potion that is to my liking…"

"You are _not_," she said, brandishing a stack of towels at me, "ready to leave. You just lie there and rest."

"I will not lie here and _rest_," I fumed, struggling into a sitting position. "I don't need any-" the pillows were really making this difficult "-bloody-" damn things don't help to prop me up in the slightest "-rest." I finally arrived at some semblance of sitting, at the expense of the nicely organized bedclothes.

Poppy came over and smoothed out the wrinkles in the revolting baby blue comforter. I fixed my most murderous expression on her, but she seemed immune. "I know you'd rather not be ill, but the more you rest the sooner you'll get better." She picked up her towels again as I suddenly wondered where they'd hidden my wand. As she toddled out of my little curtained-off cot she exclaimed, "oh, and look. It's Miss Granger to see you. That'll cheer you up."

Hermione came in with a brilliant smile and a hug for me and suddenly I forgot about the cleanness and the frog hearts and the pillows.

"How do you feel?" She said, sitting by my knees on the cot facing me and squeezing my hand.

"I have a bloody awful headache," I grumbled. Her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch in concern before both of us burst into laughter. Her honey eyes sparkled, and she smiled that beautiful smile of hers. I noticed there were a few little cuts on her cheek. I ran my thumb across them. "Are _you_ alright?"

"Oh yes," she said. "They'll heal in a couple days. I didn't want to waste the potion or the time, not with so many people hurt."

"How bad is it?"

Her eyes drooped sadly. "There were a lot of casualties. What do you know already?"

"Only what Potter told me. The Dark Lord is dead."

She nodded. "Yes. And so is Fred, and Tonks and Remus," her eyes glistened as she watched my face, "and Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey and Gabrielle Delacour and … and Parvati." A tear ran down her cheek and her voice broke. I brought her into my arms and cradled her against my chest.

"And so many more," she finished.

It was a lot of death. But now it was over. "We knew the price would be high for the Dark Lord's death."

"Yes." She said.

I sat with her, thinking.

"What are you going to do?" She asked presently.

"Oh…" I had no idea. "Well to begin with I'm going to get out of this bloody hospital wing as soon as possible."

"Yes, I get the impression that you're a rather difficult patient."

"I'm not _difficult_!"

She just grinned. "How about I read to you?" I was about to scoff about her mothering me when she reached into her enormous book bag and pulled out… _Michaelson's History of Magick Potions_. I looked at her skeptically. "Oh come on it's your favorite," she said, rolling her eyes and opening the enormous tome. "I'll skip straight to Huxley the Third, because that's where it gets interesting." She riffles through the pages for a moment. "Chapter eight, evolution of the aged ingredient…" she began.

I nod my approval and sit back on my pillows. She pronounces all the names correctly.

Hmm. This is rather nice.

* * *

Minerva came to see me that evening. She was dressed as she always was, in her favorite emerald green robes and her mother's brooch. She came in and briskly pulled up a chair before giving me a long look over her spectacles.

"How are you feeling Severus?"

"I… I'm-" I stuttered, torn between relief that she had called me Severus to annoyance that everyone was asking me this question. "I'm perfectly fine. And Poppy had better release me soon before I find my bloody wand."

"Well! You do seem back to normal." Her face crinkled into a slightly pleased expression.

She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her robes.

"We have a long conversation ahead of us, Minerva."

"Yes," she said. "And I won't tire you out now. But I just wanted to set a few things straight."

I nodded.

"Between the portraits in the Headmaster's Office and that house elf, Bibbits, I think we have a fairly good sketch of where your loyalties lay during the war. But I was just wondering about the day of the battle… when we met…"

I looked up in surprise. "You remember that?"

"Oh, should I not?" Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline.

"I stunned you and- oh, is your head alright?"

A hand went to her scalp. "I was wondering where I got that. Yes it's fine."

"Ah. Well then I obliviated you."

"Indeed?" Her eyebrows had still not returned. "I remember quite a bit of dueling."

"I must not have hit you strongly enough. I was aiming to erase your memory just far enough so that you didn't see me. So that you would think you set the statues to life."

"Oh? And ended up stunned at the top of the stairs?"

"People get stunned in strange places during a battle." I snapped.

"Mmm." She pursed her lips at me.

"In any case, it was fortunate that you commanded the gauntlet. The griffin might not have been as watchful of you otherwise."

"Yes, Hermione told me."

Shit. I suddenly realized what I had just said. I should have called her Granger. My eyes snapped to Minerva's face.

"Heavens, don't look at me for disapproval. The two of you are rather adorable. She got all the way to chapter 18, was it…?"

I gave her a mutinous glare. _Adorable_. She chuckled and stood.

"When you're up and about, come by my office for tea and a biscuit."


	23. Epilogue

I apparated with a pop and something fell toward my face. I flinched, and realized it was raining. It was the end of August and I wasn't even wearing a coat. Who knew there would be a summer thunderstorm at Spinner's End.

I hurried through the gate and up the stone path to the door. I knocked, and tried to hide from the rain under the rather small bit of overhang from the roof.

There was a thunderclap in the distance. My socks were slightly damp. I shifted my bag up on my shoulder.

The door creaked opened. It was Severus. He was barefoot and wearing something black with short sleeves. He didn't say anything and he looked rather surprised- or was it confused- to see me on his doorstep.

"Sorry. I, um, should have owled." I said to break the silence.

"Oh no," he said, still standing in the doorway, "I just… thought you were in Australia."

"I'm back." I said, lamely. "Came back just now, actually."

He gave a slight nod.

My hair was getting heavy with rain and I could feel a drop trickling down my neck. "If this isn't a good time, I can come back later-"

"No," his eyes suddenly flicked to my hair and the rain. He stepped aside and rather awkwardly gestured me inside. I didn't have a coat for him to take and I decided not to hug him because I was dripping wet. I shifted my bag again.

"I can take that for you." He said.

"Alright."

I handed it to him and he nearly dropped it under the unexpected weight. "Merlin- do you have all your things in this?"

"Yes."

He looked confused, the two little wrinkles between his eyebrows showing. He stared at the bag in disbelief. "Are you _staying_?"

"What?" Staying? As in staying here, with him? "No! I just…"

Something about his expression, one of complete bewilderment, made me snatch my bag away and head for the door. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come..." I could feel my eyes smarting.

"What! Bloody hell-" He followed me out down the path and into the rain.

"-should have owled first-"

"_Where_ are you going Granger?" He grabbed my arm and whipped me around to face him.

"Granger!"

"Hermione…" he amended.

I shoved his hand away and pulled open the gate. He slammed it shut and stood between me and the lane, throwing a scowl my way.

"I have no bloody idea what just happened, but go inside and we'll have some tea." He snapped.

My cheeks were burning and I tried not to look at him. I crossed my arms. "Move."

He glared at me and didn't move.

"I did say that I _just_ got back from Australia. I haven't unpacked yet. So my bag is heavy."

"Well you could have just said so," Severus muttered. "Makes a hell of a lot more sense than what I was thinking."

There was another thunderclap. I realized he was still barefoot, and that it was raining on us.

"Tea?" He reiterated.

I scowled at him and went inside.

He sat me down on a sofa in the living room and draped an enormous, rather stiff towel over my shoulders. "I'll get the tea." I dried myself off and noticed appreciatively that the room seemed to be wallpapered floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves. He returned, handed me a cup of tea- one sugar, a dash of milk, just the way I like it- and sat down.

"Are your parents back?"

"We're reacquainted with one another, but they're staying in Australia for now."

"That's good news." He said slowly. Maybe it was just the light, but he looked tired, worn- more so than when I had left him a month ago.

"I hear you've retired."

"Not really," he said, looking dully into his teacup. "I'm just not at Hogwarts anymore. I'm doing experimental work I've put off for far too long."

"Do you have a lab here?"

"Oh yes," he said. "Although I've been using the one at St. Mungo's quite a bit recently."

I nodded and drank my tea. I felt a good deal better.

"And what are your plans?" He asked, looking at me carefully.

"I don't know," I said.

"Are you finishing your NEWTs?"

"Yes, but I'll just take them in May. I'm not going to Hogwarts for another year."

"Outgrown school, have you?"

"Something like that."

I finished my tea and put it down in its saucer on the table between us.

"Why were you so surprised to see me today?" I asked.

His expression darkened. His eyes were downcast and he said uncertainly, "I rather thought you… broke things off."

"What? Why?"

"You left so quickly... and you were gone for a month and didn't even owl."

"I didn't have an owl with me!"

"There are owleries in Australia," he said, eyes flashing. "You could have sent me a message."

"_You_ could have sent _me_ a message." I said crossly. "Which was the obvious thing to do because then I could have used your owl to send a return message."

He frowned at my logic. "So," he cleared his throat, "you still want to see me?"

"Yes!" I said, astonished that he hadn't realized until now.

Relief washed over his face, and he smiled. "Oh good," he said, and then, "why ever am I sitting over here?"

I laughed and he came over to sit next to me on the sofa. I gave him a kiss.

"Much better," I said.

* * *

_Six months later..._

Harry put down the Prophet and drained the last of his coffee. "Have you read this?" He asked Ginny, who was just helping herself to some eggs. She peered at the picture: it was Snape coming out of Sir Barkles, a look of horror crossing his face as the flashbulbs went off. "Skeeter is expecting an announcement any day."

"Poor thing. They've really started hounding him recently." Ginny threw a dash of salt on her eggs.

"I don't fancy him buying much jewelry at Sir Barkles other than an engagement ring." Harry mused. "Although Skeeter seems to think it's a sure thing."

"Hmm," said Ginny, eating her eggs thoughtfully. "Last time I talked to Hermione she said he'd asked if she prefers silver, white gold, or yellow gold. So for once I think Skeeter's right."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Maybe he's buying her a cauldron."

"Pewter wasn't on the list."

"Maybe he's buying her an expensive cauldron."

"They're getting married Harry!" She wacked him playfully on the arm. "Be happy!"

"Git." Harry muttered.

"Oh come on! They're good together!" Ginny said, grabbing a mug.

"Still a git." Harry said stubbornly.

Ginny made her way toward the kitchen for some coffee. "You obviously don't understand the appeal."

"Appeal!? What appeal? Wha… Ginny- come back here!"

**The End**

* * *

**A/N**: Tada! (This is my new official word for ending stories.) I hope you all had as much fun reading this story as I had writing it. Please review- I love to get feedback. Thanks so much for reading! You guys are awesome!


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